


like i can't breathe

by bliiinding



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, TERRIBLE with feelings, They love each other, adam is like so done with their bullshit constantly, also stealing each others cigarettes, also they try and make each other jealous, also theyre like 18, and it goes so terribly because theyre both STUPID, o boy this one, skipping school to flirt with each other TERRIBLE, terrible terrible boys making terrible terrible jokes, they are both terrible, this is basically 25k words of flirting and no im not ashamed of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliiinding/pseuds/bliiinding
Summary: They are undefinable by the shoreline. There are no words for this. Matty, though, doesn’t think he wants any. He’s scared, if he says any of this aloud, makes it real, that it’s all just going to disappear.George isn’t scared, or at least, excellent at hiding the fact that he’s terrified. He’s shirtless in the cold, grey water. The world is still and made of things to hurt yourself with. Matty thinks George is one of those things, at least like this, looking like that, laughing like he holds heaven and hell in the palms of his two hands.Matty feels it again. His heart, his stomach, everything squeezed up into his throat. He can’t breathe again. He can’t breathe. And this is how he likes it.-“I’m not taking the piss.” George sits up straight. “Well,” He frowns, “I’m not taking the piss because he’s a guy. I’d take the piss no matter who you fancied.”“Thanks, George.” Matty rolls his eyes. “That’s very liberal of you.”





	like i can't breathe

His shoulder blades look like knives tearing through the water; he has all the power, everything Matty wants to hold in his bare hands. Matty stands on the shoreline, cold and quiet, wondering if this is how it should be — how love should feel. So much like violence, so much like war.

Love. He laughs and spits the concept back down into the sand. When did love become a war? A battle fought with knives, with cold, hard gazes through the long night? Who are they now? Lovers, friends, enemies, equals, everything and anything at once.

They are undefinable by the shoreline. There are no words for this. Matty, though, doesn’t think he wants any. He’s scared, if he says any of this aloud, makes it real, that it’s all just going to disappear.

George isn’t scared, or at least, excellent at hiding the fact that he’s terrified. He’s shirtless in the cold, grey water. The world is still and made of things to hurt yourself with. Matty thinks George is one of those things, at least like this, looking like that, laughing like he holds heaven and hell in the palms of his two hands.

“Isn’t it freezing?” Matty asks, curled up into a ball on the shoreline.

The waves roll onto the beach in shades of asphalt, fazing up to an equally grey overcast sky. It’s March. Matty feels like death, but knows that’s how they both want it.

George snorts, pulling himself up to his feet. He rises like a God, like a titan, pale skin, water dripping from it like marble. He’s a king, and Matty wants nothing more than to crown him.

George pulls his arms tight around his chest, desperate to conserve warmth, Matty thinks he must be fucking freezing, but still he’s all smiles, laughter, somewhere, elsewhere, everywhere at once. Matty only wishes he could live like that — so easily.

“It’s alright.” George shrugs it off, but runs through the shallows nonetheless, his legs dipping in and out of the waves like he’s suddenly scared to get more than his feet wet.

Matty greets him on the shoreline; he has George’s t-shirt in one hand, and a towel in the other. George’s jeans are left on the sand, back up the beach, back where everything was simpler now.

George smiles at him. He doesn’t say ‘thank you’ aloud, but he means it.

Matty turns when George pulls on his t-shirt. He tries not to notice the flexing of his shoulder blades, the muscles in his back, the look in his eyes. Matty turns instead back to the skyline, to the white sun finally showing her face between the vast grey plateaus of cloud.

“Should be getting warmer now, at least.” He says.

George lets out a little snort, throwing the towel down to the ground, and reaching for his jeans. Matty stops, turning down to the towel, sprawled across the sand, dirty and drenched with sea water.

“Fuck’s sake, George.” Matty rolls his eyes and removes his arms from where they’re pulled in tightly around his middle. He goes after the towel, trying to shake it off the best he can.

George appears again, over his shoulder, like a phantom, like something holy. He lets out another little low snort. He’s in his space, and the warmth Matty feels is impossible.

“What am I supposed to do with this now?” Matty stretches the towel out and tries to sound agitated, tries to sound composed, like he’s something, anything, like he’s worth being reckoned with.

George shrugs. “Fuck knows.”

“Well, it’s _yours,_ so—“

“Matty…” George tugs out a sigh, reaching around Matty’s waist to take the towel from him. He folds it up small with ease, brushes most of the sand off, and tucks it under his arm.

Still the sand clings to the creases in his t-shirt, and Matty is transfixed. He wants to wipe him clean; he wants any excuse to get his hands on him — to get these thoughts out of his head. George catches him staring, and he looks up again.

“I don’t care about the towel.” George says, and steps back, beginning his way back up the beach.

Matty feels stuck, abandoned, temporarily, lost in limbo by the shoreline. He wants to step right into the ocean, but he’d never even got close. George eyes him with concern — the kind that makes him want to ask questions, and Matty thinks better than to linger, so struggles up the beach after him.

“Your mum will. Care about the towel.” Matty reminds him, as they sit together further up the beach, where the sand banks up into dirt. George drops the towel again behind them, as if just to prove a point.

“I didn’t come out here to talk about my mum,” George makes a face, “Did you?”

Matty holds his breath, and in letting go of it again, he accidentally lets go of everything. The feeling that follows is all dizzy, nauseating. “Then what…” He struggles to gather his thoughts together. “What did we come here to do?”

“Swim?” George shrugs, arching an eyebrow, as he looks back out over to the grey water. “Well, I did, but I don’t know about you.”

The remark is teasing, soft and warm, with a jab of his elbow into Matty’s side, but it comes across as jarring, dark and looming — a gap inside Matty’s heart — something he doesn’t have words for. At least not yet.

“Huh?” George teases, voice growing softer now; he senses the ache in Matty’s silence, and Matty curses that he knows him too well — it can’t be long now at all until George completely figures him out. And he doesn’t know what he’ll do then, when he can’t just stand safely on the shoreline any longer.

“You alright?” George prompts, voice even softer, eyes averted, looking down, looking out, looking anywhere but him.

Matty steels himself to lie, stretching his skinny legs out into the dirt. George reaches over and touches his knee, all warm, soft fingers, large palm, tight around him. Everything in Matty’s body stops, eyes wide, bleached white. George gives his leg a squeeze and then releases it again.

“Uhh…” Matty stammers, cheeks burning pink, floundering, so suddenly aware of all the space on his left side where George is pressed against him. He feels like he can’t breathe. Violence again. Why should love feel like knives? Because whatever this feeling really is, he thinks that it’s trying to kill him.

“I know you’re not alright.” George tells him, before Matty really has a chance to lie. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and lights himself a cigarette.

Matty watches, waiting, hovering — he wants to ask without using his words. He doesn’t even think he has any anymore, at least not ones for something like this, for the both of them. For this ache in his chest that he thinks is a knot, that’s slowly unravelling inside of him and coming undone. With nothing holding him back, Matty doesn’t know how he’s going to stop himself.

He looks down.

George puts a cigarette in his hand. Matty takes it without looking up, though George inclines his head closer, lighter in hand, speaking a strange kind of silent language that feels far, far too intimate for anything Matty feels safe with.

“You should talk about it.” George tells him. Matty knows that in theory, but he knows what George doesn’t, and that that’s talking about it just might kill him.

Matty lets out a sigh, throwing his shoulders back, before finally meeting George eye-to-eye. His gaze is tired and vacant, but George gets lost in the brown, and Matty sees him, as shaky fingertips curled in around a lighter, mind shaken by caffeine, skin shaken by the cold.

“You should have worn more than just a t-shirt.” Matty tells him. George cracks a smile and lights Matty’s cigarette.

They pull back then, retreating, but sitting differently, eye to eye, Matty with his legs curled up beneath him. He’s a live ball of anxieties and just for a moment George looks like he wants to smother him; Matty doesn’t want to ask himself what that means.

“You should talk about it.” George repeats, this time with a smile, like a challenge, and this is how it feels, Matty laments — forever on the front line, but glad just to see him, even if at times, it feels like he’ll only ever be on the other side. Matty looks at George and wants to reach out and touch him.

He doesn’t. Because if only just for that moment, he knows what’s good for him.

And it’s not this. Matty draws out a breath, his teeth pushing down into his lip. He’s going to end up with bruises like this, but he doesn’t stop; he doesn’t want to stop himself. Maybe one day this’ll end, but not like this.

George looks out to the horizon again, when Matty’s eyes leave his, leaving this strange kind of tension behind them.

“So you drag me out to the beach, and you don’t even go swimming…” George’s tone is light-hearted, but it’s his words that pack the punch. Matty doesn’t make much of a habit of meeting the truth eye to eye, so it always feels confrontational when he does find himself facing up to it.

“And you say you want to talk, but we just sit on the beach and smoke.” George continues, arching his eyebrows. “Fuck, Matty, it’s a hell of a kind of conversation.”

Matty uses one shaking hand to brush his hair back behind his ear. Sensing his anxiety, George smiles at him, softly. It almost feels affectionate.

Matty lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it is.

And then something snaps inside of him, coming undone. They shouldn’t have done this. They shouldn’t have come here. The air tastes like salt, George looks like him war, and Matty is so, so tired of fighting.

“I just feel… strange…” Matty tries to explain, rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist.

“Mm.” George nods, gaze attentive and concerned. He’s suddenly everywhere again, closer now than he was before, and Matty can smell him on the wind, his scent overshadowing the saltwater.

“Strange how?” George prompts him, gesturing with his cigarette. Matty watches his fingertips and tries not to get distracted.

He fails. Bites his lip. Wants to hurt himself. But doesn’t get very far. Because George is watching him. Because George is always watching him like this.

Matty shoots out a sigh, stretching back onto his shoulders, just to put another inch of distance between them; he feels like he can’t breathe again.

“Like I can’t breathe.” Matty says without thinking.

George shoots concern into his eyes like insulin. “Like literally or?” He leans forward again, eyes all over Matty.

“No, just—“ Matty stammers, getting to his feet, pulling his arms in close, closing his eyes, gasping for a breath. And then George is with him again, standing close, standing a head or two taller than him.

“Fuck.” Matty chokes out, burying his head in his hands, and suddenly George’s arms are around him, and he doesn’t know if it’s making things better or worse, he just knows that he’s warm.

He’s warm, with his head pressed tight into George’s chest, towel abandoned on the beach. He could cry here, he could scream, and no one would hear him. They’re alone. They’re alone, Matty reminds himself, but gets caught up in the mess of thoughts that come after that.

“Do you want to go home?” George asks him, words whispered into his ear. Matty feels George’s breath hot on his neck, and feels like he’s going to implode.

“No.” Matty tells him. He knows that one for sure. He sucks in a breath, but gets less oxygen and more of George’s scent, and pulls back, looking up.

He feels too fragile to be whole, and George is trying to talk to him in this language of long glances and short stares, and Matty doesn’t want to know it. He doesn’t want to know what the things are that George doesn’t dare say aloud, because that’s trouble if he ever wanted to get into it.

“Mine then?” George suggests, letting his arms slowly slip away from Matty’s back.

“And do what?” Matty rolls his eyes, attempting to regain a little of his dignity, though it was already scarce to begin with.

“Sit around and smoke, maybe.” George snorts, reaching a hand up to his hair. It’s his turn to look nervous suddenly.

Matty tries again to roll his eyes, but sinks back into an easy smile. This is what he knows — this is what he’s comfortable with. He knows the boundary lines in this kind of territory.

“Yeah, let’s.” He says, stealing one last glance out to the ocean, saying goodbye to the fantasy of being fearless and setting everything free. In retrospect, it all just feels like madness.

“Carry the towel.” George tells him, extinguishing his cigarette.

“Why?” Matty retorts, tortured momentarily by the prospect.

“‘Cos I’m driving.” George pulls a face like it’s obvious, taking off towards the road, and Matty lets it slide, just this once; he takes what George says as it is and believes him.

He looks back out to the ocean. He thinks that everything would be so much easier if he could only live like that. Free, unafraid, himself.

But George is in the distance, hanging out of the driver’s seat, smoking another cigarette, and Matty knows he can’t. He can’t live so simply, not if he wants to live freely. Not if he wants to be able to live with himself.

George grows impatient, motions him over, and he comes quietly.

-

George has the radio on. Matty has his feet on the dashboard. Rain clouds the wind screen. George turns the wipers on, and everything is clear again.

There’s a skip in the music blaring loud, where the radio fades out so the only sound is voices, presenters’ commentary. It reminds Matty who he is and where they’re going. He feels sick again.

George steals a glance in his direction.

Matty says. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

George arches his eyebrows, letting out a ‘hmph’ sound.

“Keep your feet off the dash.” He challenges, but never looks back in Matty’s direction.

Another song comes on the radio, all dark and loud. Matty wonders if he even likes this kind of music, or if George even does, or if they were never searching for music, but just for sound — something to fill the silence — somewhere to hide their thoughts in on the way home.

The wipers clean the windscreen of rain again, but no matter what they do, no matter how clean they scrub the surface, they can’t ever stop the rain from coming down.

Matty takes his feet off the dash. But George doesn’t turn the radio off until they reach the house.

Then it’s all gravel drive way, sun coming out, car powered down, radio silence, two boys frozen in place. Matty turns to George, when they’re parked and stopped in the driveway, but he makes no move at all, key in the engine, eyes distant, like they’d never left the beach.

Matty thinks of what to say, but nothing comes.

George stares over at the windscreen, lost in thought, his face all twisted and perplexed. Matty wants to tell him something that’ll make him smile, but in his head, nothing sounds right.

George bites his lip and gives in. He’s the tide and Matty is the shoreline; they never left the beach, not really.

“Let’s go inside.” He tells the windscreen, hands still resting on the wheel.

“Mm.” Matty nods down to his feet, curled up under the glovebox. “I’m sorry.” He says quickly, before he can stop himself.

George turns his head, snapping in Matty’s direction; he looks him up and down, like he’s less of a boy, and more of a puzzle that he wants to figure out. Matty doesn’t know how that makes him feel yet.

“Sorry about what?” George asks, voice soft, leaning over, comfortable and warm again.

“Being shit…” Matty balls his hands into fists, just to make his palms ache, just to uncurl them again. “Being fucking… quiet, and strange, and making you drive us down to the beach, and just being—“

“Shut up.” George tells him, smile wide, eyelashes soft and heavy. “It’s fine.” His eyes open bright and it comes like a promise. “I just care that you’re alright.”

“I’m alright.” Matty says, and it doesn’t even sound so much like a lie. He pulls the car door open and nods to George to head inside.

Matty’s leans back against the brickwork; he’s in George’s space and dizzy with it, while George fumbles for his keys. He feels better about himself now, like he knows what he’s doing somehow, or at least that he might just have the upper hand. He promises himself, that as long as he stays one step ahead, everything is going to be fine.

“Don’t tell me you left them on the fucking beach.” Matty makes a face, arms folded across his chest. “‘Cause I’m not going back for—“

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not you.” He grins, retrieving his keys from the very bottom of his pocket and turning them in the lock.

Matty makes a face at him, and follows him inside.

The house is empty when they get inside. George calls out as he treads through the hallway, peaking through doorways, while Matty lingers on the doormat, kicking his shoes off and trying to breathe easily. He retrieves his phone from his jacket, just for something to do with his hands, while he’s all nervous and awkward — it shouldn’t feel like this, he has to keep reminding himself — it’s George. It’s George. It’s George. It’s George. But somehow that doesn’t mean anything anymore.

“Missed anything exciting?” George appears again, one hand slung over the bannister, leaning into Matty’s space, like it’s his to own and do what he pleases with. He pulls the word ‘exciting’ through his teeth like a jibe, but Matty’s hardly listening.

“Yeah.” He chews the word through his teeth. “Fuck.” He lets out a sigh, shoving his phone back down into his pocket.

“What?” George asks him, stopped dead and curious.

Matty shakes his head and pushes past George, headed into the kitchen. He curses intimacy and hopes to drown it in the glass of water he pours from the sink.

George is there again, when he turns, hovering in the doorway this time, arms folded across his chest.

Matty turns to face him, one hand braced against the countertop, glass of water in the other.

“What’s going on?” George asks him, and really means it.

Matty chews on a fingernail and bites the end right off. “Just this…” He struggles for the word. He knows the truth is going to have to come out sometime, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to. “This… fucking… lad, this… from the other night.”

George arches his eyebrows again. There’s no bite in it, just confusion.

Matty digs out a sigh, and sets the glass of water back down on the countertop. “Texting me, and it’s like… shut the fuck up, because I don’t want—“

“Is he _harrassing_ you?” George stands up suddenly, getting all big and defensive, and Matty wants to cry so badly that the only thing he can really do is laugh.

Matty shakes his head. “He’s just…” Sometimes the truth feels like he’s coughing up blood. “You know?”

George frowns.

_”You know.”_ Matty asserts, biting through every line drawn between them with his teeth.

George’s frown only deepens. “Who the fuck is this, Matty, and what’s going on? Is this why you were off earlier, because he’s been—“

‘No,’ Matty wants to say — ‘that was you’. He doesn’t though, and the words go back down his throat like bullets.

“Just some random fucking guy.” Matty says, talking with his hands, using anything and everything but his words.

“From the other night?” George reiterates, frowned still fixed on his face.

“Yes.” Matty exclaims, exasperated. “Some fucking random guy from this bar, and—“

“What?” George steps closer, joining Matty in the kitchen. “Just fucking tell me if he was giving you grief, ‘cause I’ll—“

“He wasn’t.” Matty sighs, burying his head in his hands. “Oh my god, George, do you not—“ He cuts himself off. “I thought you… had this figured out, I thought— oh my god…” He trails off, eyes rolling down to the floor like marbles.

“What?” George asks for the thousandth time.

Matty shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, George, I mean did— I thought it was just… _obvious,_ just… I thought— like—“

_”What?”_ George rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Matty—“

Matty just shakes his head again, turning back to the kitchen sink. He braces himself on the countertop, eyes lost on the view beyond the window. What he doesn’t anticipate is George getting up behind him, leaning into his space again.

“What’s he texting you about then?” George asks. Matty tries to think about anything but the feeling of George’s breath.

Matty sucks out a breath, pulling back and toppling into George. He catches him, pulling him up, pulling him close. And then Matty turns, and they’re all eye to eye and chest to chest, and George’s arms around his waist, and frozen, fucking frozen, because Matty knows it before he can think it, but he knows that George isn’t going to let him go, until he gets an answer, until he gets the truth.

Matty sucks out a breath and lets go of everything the best he can.

“About the other night.” Matty chews the corner of his lip. “About what… happened… about… what…” He catches his breath, looking down, trying to tear a hole in the floor. “What… we did.”

George frowns, giving Matty a little space, but not fully pulling away. Matty thinks he wants to move, but he’s not sure that he can.

“What… did you—“

Matty cuts him off, making eyes at him. “You know.” He says again. This isn’t something he doesn’t say aloud, and though George feels like the exception to every rule, Matty thinks please be different this time.

“You _know.”_ He catches his breath and pulls away.

George frowns again, and then he gets it, looking up, nodding. “Oh.” He says.

“Is that it?” Matty asks; his insides are a mess, he has his heart in his throat, and his head in his stomach.

“Well…” George scratches at his face. “What do you want me to say? It’s… yeah, I mean, I guessed… that… it was like that, but—“

“You seemed like you had no fucking clue two minutes ago.” Matty interjects, eyes wide and incredulous.

George shakes his head. “You made it sound like he pissed you off or something, and I thought with, earlier, that you were upset about—“

“Earlier was something else.” Matty says before he can stop himself.

George’s eyebrows go up again. Matty waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Anyway—“ Matty pulls away, out of George’s space, to the other end of the kitchen, glass of water forgotten, again already thinking of waves.

“So is that a… thing?” George asks him, before Matty can stop him, like it’s the first thing on his mind. Matty doesn’t know what to do with that thought.

“What?” Matty shakes his head. “The guy— he’s just… he just keeps texting me.” He chews on a frown. “I didn’t want to give him my number, but he— I don’t know maybe I did, but he was just… one of those ideas that seemed so good in the moment, but then, after, it feels like fucking chaos, and like why have I done this? I have ideas like that all of the time.”

Matty looks up to George. “Do you know what I mean?”

George manages a smile, nodding. “Yeah. I know exactly what that feels like.”

Matty arches an eyebrow, and wonders if it’s his turn to ask the questions yet.

But George catches him off guard before he can put his thoughts together, and Matty just goes with the flow, because he doesn’t know anything else, and a part of him is just too scared to learn.

“You wanna go smoke?”

Matty nods, and lets the waves drag his head under water.

-

He doesn’t so much feel like he’s drowning with the window cracked open wide, but with George’s body sprawled out all over the mattress and their bodies touching in places immeasurable, Matty’s pretty sure that his body’s forgotten just what it’s supposed to do with oxygen.

“And this one’s alright.” George says absent-mindedly, flipping through the notebook that the two of them share, scrawling down ideas for songs in.

George’s thinking about music, as always, but Matty isn’t listening. His eyes are on the window, on the world beyond it, trying to rationalise something that he doesn’t yet have the words for. He dreams of a world in which he doesn’t have to be scared of everything he doesn’t yet understand.

“But like… I’m not sure about the guitars…” George chews on a thought, talking to himself more than anything else. “But then that’s Adam’s job, really, and—… Adam’s…”

“Not dumb enough to skip school to drive out to the beach and then come back all depressed and sit around getting high.” Matty prompts, eyes glassed over already.

George laughs, all warm and soft; he’s getting high already, and Matty’s glad for it — he’s had enough of George’s keen eye, trying to take him to pieces, trying to figure him out. He wants to just relax, unwind, and be done with it.

“Yeah.” George nods, shoving the notebook off to the side. “You’re all distant again, aren’t you?” He prods Matty’s shoulder.

Matty turns, face turned down into a scowl. George only has laughter for him, and Matty thinks, ‘I’m not high enough yet, and I love him too much to say ‘no’’. And that’s the kind of thought that cuts his skin down to the bone, so he turns over and inhales as much as he can in one go.

George is watching him, trying to see through it all again, but Matty knows that he won’t be able to like this, but still he can’t quite sit easily.

“What’s the something else?” George asks, moving so he’s sprawled out on his back. His eyes up to the ceiling, looking to tear holes through the plaster and see the stars.

Matty shakes his head, inhaling again, cradling his joint like it’s something holy, bright like a prayer candle, something divine.

“The beach…” George draws out, his speech already slurred, bordering on incomprehensible.

Matty shakes his head again. “Just me being moody.” He throws himself down against the mattress; they lie side by side, as if entombed.

“Makes a change doesn’t it?” George snorts, eyes drifting to Matty and catching the light. When Matty reaches for his gaze, all he finds is gold, bright like eden, like everything promised.

He clears his throat, and something wakes back up in his mind.

“I’m alright, though.” He promises George, hiding his face in smoke. Still, there’s something on his mind. “I can’t believe you didn’t get it— about me and—… that guy…”

“You don’t talk about it.” George shifts the blame on him. “That kind of stuff. How am I meant to know that. I can’t read your mind.”

“Feels like you can sometimes.” Matty mumbles, mind clouded over with fog; he finds it hard to discern rational thought.

“Can’t.” George insists, rolling onto his side. “Promise.”

Matty’s face is warm with laughter before he can even see it coming. “Promise?” He arches his eyebrows.

George holds out his pinky finger. Matty shakes it.

George rolls back over with laughter. “And you’d never know if I was lying, ‘cos if I could read your mind,” He begins to gesture extravagantly with his hands, “I wouldn’t tell you.”

Matty buries his concern in a smile, in the roll of his eyes. “No, if you could read my mind, you would have killed me already.”

George winks at him. “That’s what you think, but actually, I’m waiting, playing the long game—“

“The long game…?” Matty snorts.

“You’re not gonna see it coming.” George shakes his head at him.

“See what coming?” Matty makes a face at him — nothing George is saying is making any sense and he feels safe again, back in the limbo zone, before all the lines were crossed, before anything felt real.

“Exactly.”

George is all hand gestures again, before rolling onto his back and taking another drag.

Matty lets his gaze linger over him for a moment longer than he feels safe to. And despite how he’d always pictured it being, the world doesn’t end when George eventually meets his eyes. It just stops. A jolt to the heart, and Matty thinks this is what it must mean to feel terrified.

-

The next morning Matty misses the beach — he’d take grey waves and a world of knives any day over the mundanity of the classroom.

He feels isolated even in a group, even around his friends, because he knows now that secrets are what make the world go round, and he feels less like a person and more like a puzzle to be solved.

He’s looking for George, over the heads of everyone else, out through the classroom door, but he’s late, late like he always is, and Matty doesn’t know what he’s doing being early, being on time, being anywhere out of sync with him, but he hadn’t had the heart to speak to him that morning. Everything felt strange and raw, if he was being honest with himself, and the more he was being honest with himself, the more he knew he had to be honest with George.

Matty supposes he looks as shallow and tired as he feels, because Adam is looking at him funny. More than he usually does. More than he does when he looks at Matty and realises ‘my best friend’s a fucking idiot’. This is a different kind of funny — a new kind of revelation. And it scares Matty, because he’s certain that he knows what it means.

But then class is starting, and Matty has a decent enough excuse to run away from Adam, to run away from everything. He sits at the back of the room, staring out the window, sketching distorted reflections of his anxiety in the margin of the paper. George doesn’t turn up within the first twenty minutes, so Matty makes an easy excuse and goes looking for him.

Everything feels amplified in the silence of the corridors, his every footstep echoing. He feels alone, but not the kind of loneliness that comes as a comfort — it’s not the kind of loneliness that he knows what to do with, but instead the kind of loneliness that makes him over-analyse his every thought. It’s the kind of loneliness that knows how to kill a man, given enough time and ammunition.

Matty catches a breath and stumbles into the boys toilets. Empty. He cranks the window open and pushes himself up onto the windowsill, reaching into his pockets — cigarette in one hand, phone in the other.

He takes his first drag by the time George picks up; Matty’s almost surprised that it doesn’t go straight to voicemail.

“Hey.” George’s voice is soft and airy, careless in a way that agitates Matty beyond belief.

“Hey?” Matty’s voice, though hushed, is bordering on incredulous. “Where are you?”

“Oh,” George swallows, as if suddenly remembering. “Yeah. I woke up late so I thought fuck going in for first period, you know, I mean, I can get notes off you—“

“You can get them off Adam.” Matty corrects, shaking his head. “Where are you? Are you still at home?”

“Why?” George snorts, voice teasing. “Are you coming to get me?”

“No, I can’t be fucked with this anymore—“

_“Already?”_ George says, and Matty can almost picture his expression.

“Yeah, I don’t know, something like my best mate’s not turned up, and Adam’s looking at me funny, and Ross keeps talking to that girl, you know, the one with the eyebrows— the one that I don’t like.”

“I think all girls have eyebrows, Matty.”

“Not _all_ girls.” Matty tells him, finishing his cigarette and pushing the stump out of the open window. “Anyway, where the fuck are you?”

“I’ve left now.” George tells him. “The house.”

“Meet me round the corner, you know near that little Tesco—“

“They’re gonna get onto you about skiving, you know?” George reminds him, albeit absent-mindedly.

“What?” Matty challenges him. “And not you? _Mr. I Couldn’t Be Bothered To Come In For First Period—“_

“Shut up.” George’s tone is too warm to mean anything. “See you in like five minutes.”

“See you.” Matty slides down from the windowsill and faces his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He fixes his hair without thinking about why he’s doing it, and who he’s doing it for, and as he walks out, he doesn’t even think about the day before and this clouded web of feelings he’s fallen straight into. He knows only one thing and that’s that he misses George. He reminds himself that there’s no crime in that. There’s no crime in any of this. At least not yet.

George is already there when he arrives, slung over the low brick wall around the carpark, tapping his foot anxiously against the pavement. Matty meets his eyes and flashes a smile. He tries to forget yesterday the best he can.

“Hey.” George greets him with a smile, pulling Matty into an awkward half-hug. Matty realises then that neither of them really know what to do with each other, or at least with themselves.

He smiles back, feeling a little more equal with his inadequacy, and hoists himself up onto the wall beside George.

“I’m out of cigarettes.” George tells him, smile painted bright onto his face.

“So that’s what this is about.” Matty narrows his eyes, but throws his last box at him nonetheless.

“It’s not about anything.” George assures him, taking one, and pushing the cigarettes back at him.

“Mm.” Matty cups his chin with his palms. George grins at him.

“So, what’s this about Adam?” He says, turning to face Matty properly.

“Oh, nothing really.” Matty explains. “He was just looking at me weird this morning, and I mean, alright, ‘cos I probably was looking weird, all like…” He trails off again.

George’s eyebrows go up again. Suddenly, conversation feels like a dance they do around each other, never cutting to the chase, but challenging one another to see who can get the closest.

“All like…” Matty pulls on a smirk. “All like, where’s George, I miss him so much—“

George curls over with laughter. “You did though.” He reminds him. “Fucking calling me like ‘where are you?’” George makes a good shot at an impression, twisting his voice into a high pitched whine.

“Shut up.” Matty shoves him gently. “I was bored.” He claims in his defence.

“Mm.” George doesn’t look much like he believes him.

“Anyway.” Matty changes the subject before George can look much further into it. “Ross and that girl— I mean like, it’s a free country, we can all fuck who we want, but I’m just… she really pisses me off, and if they get together then she’s gonna start hanging around him, and I’m—“

“Just ‘cos they talk sometimes doesn’t mean they’re gonna get married.” George reminds him. “I think we’ll be alright.”

“Why am I the only one who’s concerned about this?” Matty asks, looking to George in disbelief. “Like she’s so—“

George snorts. “What? Are you jealous or something?”

“Of Ross? No fucking—“

“Of _her.”_ George interjects, hitting as close to a nerve as he can get.

“Oh, fuck off.” Matty rolls his eyes. “Ross is…” He makes a face. “Well.” He makes another. “No, though.” He shakes his head.

George can’t keep himself from laughing. “Are you thinking about it now?—“

“Yeah, and it’s fucking weird.” Matty shakes his head. “Oh shut up, George, you know it’s not like that — we’re mates.”

“Yeah.” George grows quieter all of a sudden. “And fancying your mates would be fucking weird, wouldn’t it?”

Matty freezes for a moment, bites his lip, but overcompensates with his bravado. “Yeah, fucking unheard of, isn’t it?”

George snorts. “Yeah, I only fancy people I despise.”

“Yeah.” Matty trades up a smile. “Me too.”

“Can see that.” George notes. Matty stops dead for a moment. “You and that guy from the other night— I’m assuming he’s—“

“What do I have to do to get you to shut up about him?”

George shrugs. “I don’t know. Make me an offer.”

Matty makes him a face. “Maybe this is why I don’t talk about this shit, ‘cos everyone just takes the piss—“

“I’m not taking the piss.” George sits up straight suddenly. “Well,” He frowns, “I’m not taking the piss because he’s a guy. I’d take the piss no matter who you fancied.”

“Thanks, George.” Matty rolls his eyes. “That’s very liberal of you.”

George snorts. “You can talk about it, though. Not just about him, but all, fucking I don’t know— I won’t take the piss, I mean about serious stuff, you know. You can talk about fancying boys.”

“Yeah, not really with you.” Matty makes a face.

“Why not?” George makes a point of sounding offended.

“‘Cos you’re…” Matty doesn’t really know what to say, so just gestures frantically with his hands instead. _”You.”_

“Thanks.” George shakes his head. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“I talk about that with girls, not with people like you.” Matty tells him.

“Mm.” George shrugs. “Alright, fair enough—“

“Well, I mean, like if I say, I don’t know that… that fucking… Jack that Ross knows, like if I say ‘oh he’s fit, he’s got nice eyes’, what the fuck are you going to say to that?”

George shrugs, snorting. “He does have nice eyes. You’ve got a point.”

“Oh, shut up, George.” Matty shoves him again. “You know what I mean.”

“Do you want me to get Ross to talk to him for you—“

_”Shut up.”_ Matty buries his head in his hands. “It was an example—“

“But he has got nice eyes.” George reminds him.

“Well, you fucking date him then.” Matty shakes his head, sliding off the wall, speaking before he can think.

“Nah.” George puts out his cigarette. “Not my type.”

“Yeah, I know—“ Matty’s halfway to rolling his eyes again.

“Too tall.” George tells him, expression entirely unreadable.

And Matty doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all. He lets George guide him back into school for second period, and keep him out of trouble, at least for the time being.

-

Matty’s decided that he’s purposefully going to fuck with Adam, because if he can’t seem to convince him that everything’s fine, then he supposes that the only answer is to ensure that he thinks the world is in chaos, or at least their little corner of it.

They’re back at Matty’s house, the floor scattered with instruments and half-empty bottles, and Matty feels very eighteen years old. He feels even younger, naïve and hopeless, when he feels George’s eyes on him, trying to take him apart like a puzzle, trying to undo him like a lock.

And Adam’s gaze keeps wandering, back and forth between them; Matty’s sure that he must be catching up quickly now. There’s something there — between him and George, that’s clear to see. The question is just what any of that means. He’s scared that Adam might find out before he does, before either of them does. And George looks away first.

Ross is idle, absent-minded, legs spread across the old sofa. Matty can only assume that he’s texting that girl. The girl that he likes. The girl that Matty doesn’t. Matty remembers what George said to him that morning. _’Jealous?’_ George’s voice is in his head again, and Matty’s sure his cheeks are red. He makes a bid for the bathroom and grips the sink, facing his reflection in the mirror. He feels like a maniac.

These are his _friends._ His best friends. He tells himself. That’s supposed to mean something. That’s supposed to mean everything. But Matty’s not sure that anything means much anymore. There’s just George, and this twisting knot in his stomach and too many feelings and absolutely nowhere for them to go. He catches his breath, and doesn’t let go.

The atmosphere feels calmer when Matty returns, or at least he’s relieved to find that everyone seems to be looking at Ross, and not at him. He sneaks back into the room and curls up on the carpet, knees pulled up to his chest, guitar laid down where he’d left it.

George eyes him, looking him up and down, but says nothing.

“…yeah, well I don’t exactly think that you’ve got any better ideas, do you?”

Matty tunes in late to the conversation, only catching the end of Ross’ sentence; he feigns understanding nonetheless.

Adam makes a face. “Well, it’s not my problem, is it, so—“

“I wouldn’t say it’s a problem.” Ross counters, finally putting the phone down.

Matty looks to George, lost, before he can stop himself.

“It’s a situation, though, isn’t it?” George rests his chin in the palm of his hand, talking to Ross, but looking directly at Matty.

“What’s a situation?” Matty asks, falling directly into George’s hand.

George divulges a smirk, before turning to Ross, prompting an explanation.

Ross blinks for a second, as if entirely lost in thought, before continuing. “Oh, uh… yeah… Leah, she’s… we’re talking and—“

“Remind me who Leah is again.” Matty frowns.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Adam shakes his head.

“Eyebrows.” George tells him.

“Ah.”

Ross stares between them, incredulous.

“What?” Matty shrugs. “It’s not an insult, is it? We’ve all got eyebrows—“

“You won’t in a minute—“ Ross rolls his eyes.

George almost falls over laughing.

“Oh, come on.” Matty shakes his head. “That’s the worst threat I’ve heard in ages.”

“Yeah?” Ross challenges, unable to suppress a grin. “Hear a lot of threats do you?”

“Well, he goes around calling people ‘eyebrows’, doesn’t he?” George adds, trying to pull himself together.

Adam sighs.

“Look.” Ross asserts, raising his voice a little. “Leah—“

George almost doubles over laughing again at the mention of her name. Matty goes with him.

Ross shakes his head. “Look—“

“He’s trying to ask her out.” Adam spits it out before anyone else can say anything stupid.

“Oh.” Matty pulls a face. “Have you really not got round to that yet?”

“Yeah, because that’s always a good idea, isn’t it?” Ross pulls a face. “Hi, I just met you, wanna go back to mine—“

“That’s what _he_ does—“ George adds, pointing in Matty’s direction.

“I do _not.”_ Matty shakes his head. “And how would you know, anyway?” He challenges, locking down George’s gaze.

“Yeah, George.” Adam jibes. “Anything you want to tell us about?”

George goes red with laughter. “Yeah, you’re all fucking shit at pulling—“

“And you’re not?” Matty’s quick to challenge him.

George shrugs. “Had more girlfriends than you, haven’t I?”

Matty bites back without thinking. “Had more boyfriends than you, though.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I don’t think any of the lads you’ve hooked up with count as real boyfriends, Matty.” Ross says, almost patronisingly. Matty regrets turning on him earlier.

“Wait—“ George sits up properly, gesturing with his hands again like he does when he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Don’t tell me you talk to Ross about this, ‘cos—“

“It’s not so much of a conversation.” Ross shrugs. “It’s more of an observation, isn’t it?”

“No, but I mean—“ George raises his voice again. Matty goes very quiet. “The whole Matty hooking up with lads thing, like—…” He looks to Matty again. “This was news to me.”

“What?” Adam’s eyes widen. “You looked at Matty and thought he was heterosexual—“

“No, I just—“ George holds his hands up in defence. “I mean…” He looks at Matty again. It feels so much like this isn’t the right place to have this conversation, but in the same vein, it feels like the only place it could happen.

“I guessed…” George shrugs. “I just never knew it was actually happening.”

Matty shakes his head. “He got well upset that I wasn’t telling him about all the guys I fancied—“

Both Adam and Ross fall over, unable to hold in their laughter. It’s Matty and George, however that remain still, stoic, sat eye-to-eye. The room feels colder then, than it ever has before.

“No.” George raises his voice, speaking to Matty directly. “We’re best mates. I just thought it was weird. Like I said, I tell you about everyone I hook up with.”

Matty looks away momentarily. “Anyway…” He continues. “Hooks up count, you’re shit at pulling, George.”

“Mm?” George raises his eyebrows. “Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, sure.” Matty sits up properly. “Friday night, we go out— who can pull first—“

“Don’t you think that’s a bit misogynistic?” Adam adds. “I mean, treating girls like they’re a game.”

Matty shakes his head. “I never specified any kind of gender.”

“Well, doesn’t that mean Matty has an advantage, ‘cos he can go for anyone and I—“

“I have standards, George!” Matty asserts.

“Believe it or not.” Adam adds. The lads burst out with laughter.

“Anyway—“ Matty begins again, rolling his eyes. “No one said you can’t hook up with lads, George, so—“

George flushes, letting out a little snort. “Wouldn’t want to give you too much competition.”

“Yeah?” Matty raises his eyebrows.

“Yea—“

“Oh, stop flirting—“ Adam lets out a sigh.

George laughs, hiding his face behind his hands. Matty however feels all too exposed, all too human. As usual, he compensates.

“I thought I told you,” He says, looking to Adam more than to George, “I have standards.”

_”Ooh.”_ Adam sits up suddenly.

George makes a face at him. Matty makes one back.

“Friday night, yeah?” Ross looks up. He has his phone in his hand again. “‘Cause, Leah— don’t start laughing—“

George covers his mouth with his hands. Matty laughs just at that. Adam rolls his eyes.

“Her mate’s having this party Friday, yeah, so— if you help me get in with her, I can get us all in, and—“

“Yeah, but is it a decent party or not?” Matty sits up a little.

“Matty, for fuck’s sake, what do you want? There will be people there—“ Ross shakes his head.

Matty shrugs. He’s never known what he wants. Not really.

He feels George looking at him again, but he doesn’t look up.

“Just tell her you think she’s pretty and she makes you laugh or something.” Matty shrugs.

“Is that the patented Matthew Healy flirting technique?” Ross snorts.

“Yeah.” Matty looks up. “I’m gonna have to charge you to use it.”

Ross flips him the finger. “There you go, there’s your payment.”

“And your receipt.” Adam adds, with his finger.

“Oh, that’s lovely, guys.” Matty narrows his eyes. “Real lovely, thanks—“

George snorts. “Just text her for fucks sake.”

Matty catches George’s eye. “Tell her she has nice eyebrows.”

George explodes with laughter, and suddenly Matty feels warm all over.

-

It’s just him and George by evening time, with Ross leaving first, and Adam leaving soon after him. Matty sits on the same piece of carpet, eyes shot in George’s direction, wondering if he’s waiting for George to leave, or for George to tell him that he wants to stay.

“You know how I said Adam was looking at me funny.” Matty begins, tracing patterns into the carpet with his fingertips. He looks at his guitar laid beside him, abandoned for the best part of the last few hours.

“Yeah?” George looks up, sliding his phone back into his pocket. Matty thinks he’s only grown to hate it when George gives him his full attention.

“I don’t think any of that helped.” Matty sighs, burying his head in his hands.

George smiles at him. “Don’t worry, we all already know you’re a proper weirdo.”

Matty makes a face, but he knows, but they both know, though they won’t say it aloud, that it’s more than just that.

“Is the bet on for Friday night, though?” George asks, meeting him eye to eye. “Or was that just jokes?”

Matty shrugs. “Sure, whatever you like.”

“Yeah?” George raises his eyebrows. “I’d like to see you lose.”

“Mm…” Matty shakes his head, trying to pull himself together again. “Shame that isn’t going to happen then, is it?”

George shrugs. “Since when can you tell the future?”

Matty smiles, drowning again. “Since you can read minds.”

“We really must both be fucking weirdos then.” George says, decidedly.

“Yeah.” Matty agrees. “But I like it like that.”

“Mm.” George smiles. “And you always get what you want, don’t you?”

“Always.” Matty says, and feels like he’s made of paper, and once again George is the ocean. He supposes at least, that this time, he might be able to float.

“Wanna go for a smoke?” George asks. “I mean, I owe you one from earlier, don’t I?”

“Yeah.” Matty sighs. “You do, don’t you?”

He gets to his feet and thinks ‘thank God you’re not leaving yet’.

-

Matty’s on edge from the very moment he wakes up on Friday morning. He turns to his phone and finds a couple of messages from George, talking about nothing comprehensible, and feels jealous that George had gotten high without him last night.

They’d only smoked cigarettes at his place, saying everything and nothing, until the evening grew dark and foreboding, and George going home became an obligation. Matty bit his lip. Sure, he got high without George sometimes, but still… George getting high without him, especially after they’d been smoking together. It felt strange. It felt like treachery. It felt like something Matty didn’t dare unravel.

He texts George back, ignoring his outbursts from last night, and instead insists that he meets him before they go into school together. Matty doesn’t want a repeat of yesterday.

George doesn’t reply, but Matty knows he won’t be up for at least another hour, so he drags himself out of bed and tries to put his head together.

He gets all the way downstairs, dressed, and half-way through picking something to eat for breakfast, before his phone buzzes in his pocket. He thinks, ‘George, finally’, but finds it’s Adam instead, messaging him. Matty still thinks it’s too early to read and comprehend written conversation, so he calls Adam instead, puts his phone on speaker, and sets it down on the kitchen counter.

“H-hey?” Adam sounds hesitant, almost nervous.

“Hey…” Matty sighs, continuing to rummage through the kitchen cupboards.

“Is this about what I texted you or—“

“I barely even read it.” Matty admits, finding a cereal bar tucked away in a box somewhere.

Adam sighs. Matty finds too much joy in disappointing him.

“What was it about?” Matty prompts him instead. “Oh, come on, it’s early, isn’t it? Do you really expect me to read?”

“Jesus Christ.” Adam lets out another sigh. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay for tonight.”

Matty pauses. “Mm. Yeah. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be, unless I fall tragically ill within then next eight hours then—“

“I don’t mean like that.” Adam cuts him off. “I mean like… George… and the bet… and all that… that stuff… you know what I mean, don’t you, Matty?”

Matty stops dead. He picks the phone up from the countertop, takes it off speaker, and puts it to his ear.

“Adam?” He says, in little more than a whisper.

“Yes?” Adam lowers his voice too.

“What do you mean?” Matty asks, exasperated, leaning back against the fridge.

Adam lets out a sigh. “I… well… you two… there’s something there, isn’t there?”

Matty bits his lip. “I don’t know what you mean—“

“No, Matty.” Adam tells him. “You do. You know exactly what I mean, and that’s why you sound so nervous, and—“

“Stop.” Matty near enough begs. “It’s nothing. There’s nothing going on. You know that.”

“Yeah, maybe there’s nothing going on.” Adam confirms. “But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

Matty sighs. “If there was something there, you’d know about it—“

“And I do.” Adam asserts. “Because it’s obvious. Maybe you don’t want to see it, because it scares you, at least on his part, but— it’s definitely there. I’m not blind, Matty. Neither is Ross.”

Matty hides his face in the palm of his other hand. Fuck, he thinks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“And I just don’t think…” Adam continues, a little more slowly this time. “That, you know, this stupid bet or whatever the fuck you’re actually doing, is the best way to deal with the situation.”

Matty makes a face. One he’s glad that Adam can’t see.

“Then what would you do?” He humours him, voiced laced with sarcasm.

Adam’s response sounds entirely too flippant. “Tell him you fancy him, maybe. I don’t know, talk about it like normal people do.”

Matty cringes at the prospect. He cringes again at the realisation that the whole world has known all along.

“It feels safe, though.” He persists. “Like a secret, I can’t just— you know, you don’t understand, Adam, it’s so fucking complicated—“

Adam doesn’t sound convinced. “Is it really?”

“Yeah.” Matty insists. “Because it matters to me. Because he matters to me. So fucking much. He’s not just some random lad. It’s all different this time.”

“And you’re scared.” Adam tells him.

Scared isn’t something that Matty particularly wants to be, but it sounds enough like the truth for Matty to let it be.

“I’m sure he likes you too, you know?” Adam says, almost off-guard.

Matty goes white all over. “I’m sure he doesn’t.” Matty insists, “What with him being heterosexual and all that.”

“Sexuality is fluid.” Adam reminds him. “And you’re about as feminine as a boy’s gonna get—“

“Oh, shut up, Adam.” Matty rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I know it’s actually depressingly funny to you, but like, don’t take the piss.”

“I’m not taking the piss.” Adam assures him. “I really think he fancies you a little bit.”

“Well…” Matty makes a face, entirely unsure what to with that revelation. “A little bit’s not really enough is it?”

“I don’t know.” Adam says.

“It’s not.” Matty promises him. “‘Cause I fancy him a hell of fucking lot, alright?”

“And he finally admits it.” Adam sighs, and Matty can hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh, shut the fuck up sounding so proud if you already knew—“

“It’s not about me knowing.” Adam tells him. “But you saying it out loud, really. You’re scared of it and I think everyone can see that.”

Matty catches his breath, holding still for the moment. “Even George?”

“Well, maybe not so much George, ‘cause he’s probably a bit scared of it too—“

“What the fact that his weird best mate fancies him?” Matty makes a face to himself. “Yeah, I’d be scared too.”

“No—“ Adam lets out a sigh. “Shut up, Matty. I think he’s scared ‘cause he fancies you too. And look, him being so ‘heterosexual’, he doesn’t know what to do with that, does he? So it’s your job, both as his mate, and as someone who’s comfortable with their sexuality, to talk to him about it. And I’m saying that not just as your mate, but as his mate too, alright?”

Matty sighs.

“And also it’s fucking excruciating to watch you two flirt with each other constantly and nothing come of it—“

Matty puts the phone down, and buries his head in his hands. The world seems to know who he is now, and despite everything he’d once thought, he’s still standing.

-

He avoids Adam’s eye for the rest of the day. He feels strange and exposed, every time he looks at George, or for that matter, looks at anyone else. He wonders if George really does know what’s going on, because if he does, Matty feels like he’d really appreciate some answers.

The bet’s still on for the party, of course; Adam hadn’t been able to talk him out of that one. And maybe it’s the worst thing they can do — dealing with their ‘feelings’ by hooking up with other people, but Matty thinks at least that it’ll make George _think._ Make him think whether he wants this or something else, and then when his mind’s made up, he can talk to Matty about that later, because Matty doesn’t think he can go through all of these hard conversations just for George to change his mind at the end of it all. He thinks that would break him, so he holds himself together a little more tightly.

And maybe a part of him, just a little part of him, wants to make George jealous. Wants to see if he _can_ make George jealous. Because for all of Adam’s bullshit about George being scared too, Matty wants to see it with his own eyes, especially before he believes it.

“Who’s are we meeting at?” Adam asks, as the four of them make their way out of school that afternoon.

Matty looks to Ross, who shrugs. “I don’t know, I can’t do mine—“

“Mine.” George interrupts. “Should be fine. My mum’s out anyway.”

“Yeah, thanks mate.”

“All of you have gotta bring drinks, though.” George narrows his eyes. “Especially you, Matty—“

“Oi, why am I being victimised?” Matty throws on a frown.

“‘Cos I know your mum doesn’t notice when shit goes missing.” George rolls his eyes.

Matty rolls them back. “Not just a personal vendetta you have against me, then?”

“No.” George slings his lips around a smile. “But I can make it one if you want—“

“Jesus Christ, stop flirting for five fucking minutes.” It’s Ross this time, that says it.

Matty goes lobster pink and turns to Adam for help, but he only looks at Matty with this belligerent kind of ‘I told you so’ expression. Matty decides that he wants to kill him. And Ross too. Not George, though, because he still hasn’t figured him out, and he thinks that just maybe, he’d like to.

He looks to George at last, and through the nervous laughter and the blush pink cheeks, he sees George as he’s always known him, but with something else about him. Something that feels just as vulnerable as he does, and Matty lurches and swallows hard, because he’s beginning to believe that Adam might just have had a point.

Matty declines going straight back to George’s for the first time in his life, and stumbles home instead, burying himself in a cigarette. He tries not to think about George’s eyes on him, Adam’s eyes on him, Ross’ eyes on him. Everybody knows everything about him, but at the same time, nobody knows anything at all. It feels suffocating, like he can’t breathe, and like he can’t breathe all of the time.

In his head, he’s at the beach again, with George in the water, swimming easily, and showing no sign of the cold, and he’s standing on the shoreline, still unsure whether he’ll be able to float. There’s sand in the towel and George doesn’t mind, but there’s sand in the towel, and it’s the only thing Matty can think about, because it stops him from thinking about everything else. There’s sand in the towel and Matty can’t take his eyes off George — in the end they’ll both have to come clean somehow.

By the time he gets home, once he’s stolen a couple of bottles from the cabinet to put into his bag, he does something he thinks is mad. He calls Chelsea, which isn’t mad within himself, but it’s what he plans to say to her that feels so dangerous.

“Hey.” She answers, and Matty thinks he can hear the TV on in the background.

“Hey, um…” Matty bites his lip. “Just quickly, ‘cause I know… I know… don’t even say anything, I know this sounds mental, but just quickly, ‘cos I need to know, and I need someone to be honest.”

“Okay.” She says, and Matty can hear the smile in her voice. “I can do honest.”

Matty takes in a deep breath, and lets go again. “Do you think George fancies me?”

Chelsea’s silent for an uncomfortably long time after he says it, and Matty feels like he’s going to come apart from the insides, and he just doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Um…” He can hear the frown in her voice.

“Honest.” He reminds her. “Just say it how it is, I need to know—“

“I’m not lying, I just…” She sighs. “I don’t really know, it’s complicated. Can’t you read him better than me anyway?”

“Yeah, but I’m biased, aren’t I?” Matty shakes his head, regretting this already.

“Oh,” The tone of her voice changes, “You want him to fancy you?—“

“Chels, why the fuck else do you think I’m asking?” Matty buries his head in his hands. Dear fucking God, he needs a cigarette.

“I’d say it’s a strong maybe.” She decides. “But I don’t know him that well, so I can’t say, but, I don’t think it’s impossible—“

Matty sighs. “I just want an objective opinion, like none of this, you think I can— no, I want a yes or no.”

“Why?” She asks. “Why does it need to be so definitive? I don’t think feelings are even that definitive.”

“‘Cause people keep telling me shit and I don’t know what to trust any more.” Matty sighs.

“Who?”

“Adam, really.” He explains. “Says that he thinks George fancies me, and I—“

“You want someone to tell you it isn’t true.” Chelsea finishes for him. “Look, Matty, if that’s what one of you two’s best mates thinks, then…” She lets out a sigh. “If you want someone to tell you otherwise, I don’t know, maybe you’re going to have to find someone who wants to lie.”

Matty freezes over. It’s his throat closing up again. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. And everything tastes like saltwater.

“What do I do then?” He asks for the final time. “If it’s really— if I’m not just making all of this up? What do I do now?”

“Talk to him.” Chelsea says, like it’s easy, like it’s obvious, and maybe it is, not in practice, but in theory. “What can go wrong? He’s your best mate, isn’t he?”

The silence hangs in the air, but Matty can’t bring himself to breathe, never mind put down the phone, and he thinks ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck’._

“Talk to you later, though.” Chelsea says, her voice distant in his ear. “Good luck and all that.”

She waits a minute, and the line goes dead.

And then it’s just Matty, standing in his living room, phone in hand, weight of the truth on his shoulders, and he feels like he’s going to fucking explode the moment someone touches him. Fuck. He needs a cigarette. Fuck. He needs a drink. Fuck. He needs answers.

-

Matty’s the first to get to George’s, which is a surprise to no one. He lets himself in through the back gate, and finds George smoking out in the garden. George stops when he sees him, like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Hi…” Matty flushes, he’s involuntarily sheepish, suddenly feeling stupid in the clothes he’s picked out. George is all t-shirt and jeans as usual, while Matty’s in tight, leather trousers and a floral shirt. George’s eyes hover over the patch of skin where the top two buttons are undone. Matty flushes again.

“Your hair looks nice.” George says, into the ashtray, shaking the ash from his cigarette. Matty reaches a hand up to touch the bun he’s formed out of his mess of curls.

“Thanks…” He murmurs, joining George on the seat. It swings a little as he pulls himself up onto it, pushing his back to the adjacent armrest, as to put as much space between him and George as possible.

“I brought drinks.” Matty adds, largely for something to say. He nods to the bag he’s slumped down on the grass beside him.

George smiles impossibly wide, and leans in closer to Matty. “Good, ‘cos I’m gonna need to be pissed if I have to look at Ross trying to flirt with Leah constantly.”

Matty thinks, ‘yeah, I’m gonna be need to be pissed if I have to look at you trying to flirt with other people’.

“Eyebrows.” George corrects himself after a moment. They share a smile. “You want a cigarette?” George asks him, and Matty feels like letting go of everything right then and there.

Talk about it. Chelsea’s voice is in his head. Adam’s voice is in his head. And it’s drowning out George’s for the first time. He’s curious for once; he allows himself to be. He just wonders what exactly would happen. He wants to know what George would say. He wants to know what George wouldn’t.

But the words don’t make it far up his throat before they become lodged there, and suddenly everything’s ‘I can’t breathe’ all over again. He looks at George for a long moment, and spits out an answer. “Yeah.” He says. “Yeah.”

George smiles at him again, and Matty buries his insecurities in another cloud of smoke.

“I have a feeling the party’s gonna be shit.” Matty says suddenly. He’s all anxiety, talking and trembling with his hands.

“Mm.” George nods. “You’re probably right. Still a party, though, isn’t it?”

“Still a party.” Matty shrugs; he supposes he agrees.

“We can ditch later if you want.” George offers. “You know, after you lose. Consolation prize, I’ll take you out and that—“

“Shut up.” Matty tells him, shaking his head. “I’m gonna win for sure.”

“Yeah?” George arches his eyebrows. “Good luck with that.”

Matty snorts. “You’ve already told me I look nice, so, I think maybe—“

“And I don’t?” George frowns, appalled.

Matty stammers over a response. Because George does look good, because George always looks good, but the only thought he knows how to translate into words is malice.

“You look shit.” Matty tells him through a snort. “T-shirt and jeans, hardly making an effort.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise we were going to a fucking dinner party.” George makes a face, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. “It’s a shitty party, Matty, so we’re gonna get pissed, and do this stupid bet, and then get the fuck out and—“

“Can we go to the beach again?” Matty says suddenly, without thinking.

George looks at him for a long moment. “I think I’ll be a bit too pissed to drive.”

“Then don’t drink.” Matty tells him.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” George rolls his eyes. “I need to be drunk for this bullshit.”

“For what exactly?” Matty narrows his gaze.

George looks down, cheeks flushed red. “It’s gonna be a mess, isn’t it?” He says suddenly, quieter than either one of them had expected him to be.

Matty thinks again about everything he’s certain that he _should_ be saying to him. “Yeah.” He cups his head in his hands. “It’ll be a mess.”

“Exactly.” George smiles. “It’ll be a mess ‘cos it’s you and me, and that’s just us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Matty sighs. “Still, I wanna go back to that beach.”

“Mm?” George arches his eyebrows. “You gonna get in the water this time?”

“Maybe.” Matty says, looking down. “Just maybe.”

For a moment, George looks like he wants to say something intimate, something vulnerable, something honest enough to tear the whole evening to pieces, but he’s stopped dead in his tracks when Ross and Adam appear around the back gate, and the laughing and the drinking starts.

Matty’s hanging onto George by the time they leave for the party. He’s not quite as drunk as he looks, but he takes pleasure in overacting it — either that or he likes the way George has got his arm around him, and he’s drunk enough not to think better of it.

Adam’s looking at the two of them again, like he’s really got nothing better to do, but Matty’s tired of it. Tired of the looks and the questions, and all the intricacies of navigating a secret. He looks up at George and sighs.

“What?” George asks him, trying to ensure that Matty keeps moving forward.

“You’ve got nice eyelashes.” Matty tells him, before any last shred of common sense can protest otherwise.

George flushes red, bursting out with the kind of laughter that nearly topples the both of them. Adam looks disapprovingly over the both of them, like he regrets ever knowing them. Ross is busy texting Leah, as usual.

They arrive at the party, after some difficulty in finding the right house, during which Adam resorted to Google Maps, and Matty and George relentlessly made fun of him for it. Ross, again, was looking for Leah, who went out into the street to find them and drag them inside. She’d looked over Matty and George with a familiar kind of disapproval, though Matty had a sneaking suspicion that it was more to do with the fact that they’d ended up holding hands than anything else.

Once inside, Matty drags George over to the bathroom, which gets a look from Adam, but at this point, Matty’s sure that his every breath around George does, so he pays it no notice.

“Bit suspicious, this.” George snorts, after Matty locks the toilet door behind them.

“Somewhere quiet.” Matty makes a face at him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

George is all wide eyes. “Disgusting? Me? I’m not the one dragging people into toilets—“

“I’m not dragging anyone anywhere!” Matty protests, holding his head in his hands. He catches his reflection in the mirror for a brief second, and suddenly thinks ‘who am I and what the fuck am I doing here?’. He catches his breath and looks back up to George again.

“So…” He says, as composed as he’ll ever be. “Rules. For the bet.”

“Okay.” George steps forward and meets Matty eye to eye. “First person to pull— let’s say you have to tell Adam, like he can be the referee—“

“Ooh.” Matty snorts. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Well, he’ll be pissed in a minute, so fuck it.” George makes a face. “Just to prove that no one’s making shit up.”

“Mm.” Matty nods. “So what does the winner get?”

“Bragging rights.” George supposes. “A shag, probably, in the end of it all, depends how they play their cards.” He makes a face.

“And if I win, you have to take me to the beach after.” Matty says suddenly.

“How?” George looks at him in disbelief.

“Buses exist.” Matty reminds him.

George throws him the finger. “Maybe I’ll try sober up.” He pulls on a smirk. “You’re already twice as pissed as me.”

“No.” Matty snaps out of it suddenly. “I’m putting most of it on.”

George arches his eyebrows. “Why?”

“So I seem easier to beat.” Matty grins, leaning back against the bathroom wall. “It’s all about playing the competition.”

“And you’ve kind of fucked that now.” George tells him.

“Yeah.” Matty bits his lip. “Worth it, though. To see the look on your face.”

George snorts. “Well, aren’t you easily pleased…”

“And if I win,” George adds suddenly. “I get to ask you one question, any one question, and you have to tell me the truth.”

Matty stares at him in disbelief.

“Just one thing.” George assures him.

“Still.” Matty makes a face. “What the fuck are you going to ask?”

George snorts, shooting back at him. “What the fuck are you keeping secret?”

Matty catches his breath, words tumbling from his mouth before he can think twice. “Try your odds and you might just find out.”

“Okay.” George braces himself against the wall. “Let’s go.”

“Now? Already?” Matty stammers, flustered.

“What?” George laughs. “Do you want a few minutes to work on your pick up lines?”

“No, I…” Matty catches his breath. “I don’t know what I want.” He says suddenly, eyes lingering over George for too long.

George smiles right back at him, and Matty lets himself believe, just for a second, that they just might be on the exact same strand of thought. “Me neither.”

And then Matty unlocks the bathroom door, the bet’s on, and everything’s set to fall into a thousand perfect little pieces. Suddenly the only thing Matty knows is that smug grin on George’s face, and just what he’s going to have to do to wipe it off. Because if this is going to break down, he wants to see it fucking shatter.

-

He starts with the girl with red hair because he can tell himself that he likes the way she looks when she laughs, but they get half-way into a conversation, before Matty realises that she’s gay, and suddenly he doesn’t know how to leave without coming off as a complete asshole. He doesn’t even think that she’ll believe the truth.

He looks through the room instead, trying to find George, and when he does, Matty spots him talking to this girl. She’s prettier than Matty is, as most girls are, but the moment he feels the weight of Matty’s gaze on him, George is looking in his direction.

George grins at him, before reaching out and touching the girl’s arm, yet even as she seems to smile at him, George’s eyes never once leave Matty.

“Who’s that?” There’s a shove to his arm, pulling him back down to earth. It’s the girl with red hair; if he was her, he would have already left. He almost wonders why she hasn’t, but then he reminds himself that in all honesty, he doesn’t really care.

“George.” Matty says, like that’s going to answer all following questions.

She snorts. “You two need to like… cool it on the sexual tension, okay?”

Matty flushes red, looking back to George, or at least where he was, but the moment he turns back, George is gone, like he was never even there.

“If you wanna snog your best mate,” The girl says again, “That’s not a bad thing. That’s a good thing. I mean, you already know everything about each other, you don’t have to deal with when it’s awkward and you’re both in bed, and you have to decide when and how to leave. There’s none of that with your best mate, you both just know that you’re going to stay.”

Matty turns back to her, but she’s already gone too. And it’s like that, that he’s alone, and everything’s a sea of people, he can’t see George, flirting with somebody else, he can’t see Ross, desperately trying to get Leah to like him, and he can’t even see Adam, probably sat miserably somewhere.

Matty thinks he should feel sorry for Adam, considering that they’ve all just abandoned him to do other people, but Matty suddenly feels sorry for himself. Because here he is, alone at a party, drunk but not drunk enough, in it but not in it enough. He’s not sure who he is anymore. He just wants to find George.

But then there’s an arm around his shoulders, he thinks at first, that it’s George, coming to brag, or laugh in his face, or do something even more impossible, but as Matty turns, he realises that it’s just somebody else.

“Hey.” There’s a lad, taller than him, drunker than him, fitter than him, and Matty thinks that in his current situation, he can hardly complain.

“Hey.” Matty says, flirting as much as he’s able, before he throws up at the sight of his own discarded dignity.

“I’m Jake.” He says, arm still strung loosely around Matty’s shoulders.

“Matty.” He smiles up at him.

“I saw you.” Jake tells him, doing all of the work for him. “Looking all lonely, and cute. Cute and lonely, and I’m thinking, who the fuck’s left you alone, you know?”

Matty snorts. “Just this girl I was talking—“

“Please don’t tell me you’re straight.” He begs, suddenly looking drastic.

Matty almost bursts out laughing at the prospect. “I’m really not.” He promises him. “People can have conversations, you know? Without wanting to fuck each other.”

Jake laughs. “Oh yeah, but not… not like this?”

Matty looks to him properly, for the first time. “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah. If you do.” He reaches out to push Matty’s hair back behind his ears. “I told you, you’re cute. I’m not gonna get more soppy about it, ‘cos that’d be a disaster, but—“

“You’re hot.” Matty tells him, and kisses him before he can really think about it.

He goes in with everything he has, nothing to lose, all tongue, hands everywhere, bodies pressed close together. Jake smells just like George used to. Matty wants to get that thought out of his head, but it just won’t go, it just won’t leave him alone.

Matty pulls away first, because suddenly all he’s breathing in is his scent, and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe at all. He pulls away, catching his breath, and from across the room, he finds George staring straight at him, eyes wide and unreadable. He offers up a smile.

“Who’s that?” Jake asks, following his gaze.

“George.” Matty says again, sounding more intoxicated than he had before, and suddenly everything else goes black and white.

“Who’s George?” Jake asks, slotting his arm back around Matty’s shoulders.

“My best mate.” Matty tells him, drowning in everything everyone’s said to him over the past day. Suddenly everything’s George, and he really doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

“You usually stare at your best mate like you wanna get into his pants, or—“

Matty turns to Jake in disbelief. “I…” He stammers.

“‘Cause I’m not…” Jake gestures between the three of them, and Matty desperately wishes that George wasn’t still paying attention. “You either want me or you don’t, and you fucking want him, and that’s clear to everyone in a five mile radius.”

Matty doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just looks down.

“You’re cute, Matty.” Jake says again. “But… it’s not you and me, is it?”

“No.” Matty, at least has the courtesy to tell him. George watches him watch Jake leave, his expression, once again, unreadable.

Matty’s left standing there, a little lost for a words, entirely lost on what to do next, but it’s George that comes over and finds him that time, and suddenly everything feels like it just might start making sense again.

“He looked like a dick.” George nods over to the corner of the room that Jake disappeared into. Matty follows his gaze absent-mindedly.

“Yeah.” Matty supposes, shrugging. “But he really seemed to fancy me, you know?”

“Mm.” George sighs, turning back to Matty. “Hope I’m not interfering.”

“Oh…” Matty narrows his eyes. “You definitely are.”

George arches his eyebrows.

“Everything was fine until you made me look at you— fucking distracting—“ Matty exclaims, shaking his head.

“I didn’t _make_ you do anything.” George insists.

Matty sighs. “Well, still, this is the second person that’s left because of you.”

“Because of me doing what?” George smirks. For a moment, Matty’s almost certain that he knows the answer himself.

Matty shakes his head and drags George out through the crowded room and through the backdoor. The cold air clings to them as they stumble into the side alley, catching their breath.

George looks Matty up and down and grins at him. “So you haven’t pulled yet?”

“Neither have you!” Matty protests, dragging out a sigh. “I thought this would be easy, you know? I thought we could just get this shit over with, and then just—“

George raises his eyebrows.

“But, no.” Matty shakes his head. “You have to be all distracting, fucking putting me off so everyone thinks I’m not actually interested in them. Twice it’s happened already. Twice.”

George wrangles with a smirk. “But you’re not actually interested in them. I can tell.” Matty makes a face like he wants to protest, but George continues before he can. “Happened to me too.” He admits. “So don’t say _I’m_ distracting, when I’m not the one out here like this…” He gestures vaguely in Matty’s direction.

Matty narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” George sighs, picking at his t-shirt.

“No.” Matty bites his lip. “You do, so tell me.”

George shrugs. “I mean…” He catches his breath. “You look pretty, alright?”

“It’s… distracting?” Matty frowns, struggling to make sense of the situation.

“Fuck.” George buries his head in his hands. “I need a fucking drink.”

Matty sighs. “Thought you were trying to sober up so you can drive—“

“Are either of us really going to win now?” George reaches for a cigarette, offering Matty one instinctively. “I mean… fuck— fuck, is this even really about winning anymore?“

“Well, I mean no, if you don’t stop trying to distract me—“

“Matty, I’m not trying to do anything!” George protests.

“Well, you’re just distracting then, all weird and tall, and smiling at me— for fuck’s sake, you don’t even want to know the things _strangers_ have said about me and you tonight.” Matty shakes his head, burying the thought amidst a puff of smoke.

George stops suddenly. “No… I do, Matty. I do. What the fuck have people being saying?” He looks guarded, as if ready to fight in their honour, Matty only smiles.

“Not that kind of shit.” Matty lets out a sigh. “Nothing you need to punch anybody over.”

“Well, that’s a relief ‘cos I wasn’t planning to—“

“Mm.” Matty looks unconvinced. “It’s just…” He trails off; he doesn’t know how to say this. At all. He doesn’t even think that George knows how to hear it.

George takes a long drag of his cigarette. He looks strange for a moment, like he’s burning everything at the wayside. Matty holds his breath.

“This girl told me earlier that I was looking at you more than I was looking at her.” George snorts. “I think she was jealous.”

Matty’s stomach climbs up his chest and tries to make a way out through his throat.

“Jealous of what?” Matty stumbles through a half-sentence.

“Exactly.” George nods, eyebrows raised.

“That lad was too.” Matty says suddenly, before he can stop himself. “Jealous. He thought there was—“

George meets his gaze. “Fucking good, I didn’t like the look of him.”

Matty arches his eyebrows. “Careful, you’re gonna sound like you’re actually jealous now.”

“Of what?” George shakes his head. “Of some lad you only started talking to ‘cos you wanted to win some stupid bet?”

“No.” Matty smiles. “I was talking to him ‘cos he was fit too.”

“Right.” George narrows his eyes. “He’s definitely an asshole, though.”

Matty shrugs. “Yeah, but he’s fit.”

“Matty…” George struggles with a sigh. “Please tell me your standards aren’t as low as that.”

“Well, in general, yeah, but for tonight, you know? Everything’s different, isn’t it?”

George nods slowly, holding his gaze. He looks like he wants to scream a million things, but nothing ever rises to the surface. “Did the girl… the red hair, what did she say?”

“Oh,” Matty struggles to remember; suddenly it seems like five years ago. “She was gay, but… something about…” Matty stops himself, her voice in his head all over again. “She thought I fancied you, yeah.”

George arches his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Mm. Yeah, the girl I was talking to thought that too.”

“What?” Matty stares at him, incredulous. “That I fancied you, from a mile off—“

“No, that I fancied you, idiot.” George shakes his head. “Come on, keep up.”

Matty feels it again. His heart, his stomach, everything squeezed up into his throat. He can’t breathe again. He can’t breathe. And this is how he likes it.

“Actually… now we’re talking about it…” George trails off, and Matty’s heart stops dead in his chest. “Amber’s convinced I fancy you as well. Ross a little bit, but he doesn’t like talking about it.”

Matty’s eyes blow open wide. “And do you? Like talking about it?”

George shrugs, holding onto a smile between his teeth. “I don’t mind. Amber’s well into it.”

Matty sighs. “You don’t get it like I do then, off Adam, fucking hell, several lectures and phone calls—“

“Oh, so that’s why he’s looking at you strange.” George grins, bursting into laughter. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“What that he thinks I fancy you?” Matty frowns. “Yeah, I thought it would have been a bit awkward.”

“Only awkward if it’s true, though, isn’t it?” George raises an eyebrow, stubbing his cigarette out.

Matty says something else quick just to shut him up. “Chelsea thinks you fancy me as well.”

“Oh.” George frowns.

“I asked her.” Matty says, before he can think.

“You asked her?” George looks up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Fucking hell, Matty, do you go around asking everyone we know this kind of shit, like I’m not here, like you can’t just ask me—“

“Well, no I feel like I can’t just ask you, because it’s you know, kind of a personal thing, isn’t it?” Matty lets out a sigh. “And I’d never know whether you were being honest.”

George narrows his eyes. “You think I’d lie to you?”

“Well not lie but avoid the question, probably, I mean that’s fair—“

“Ask me.” George says suddenly, eyes wide and fearless.

Matty grows still and terrified, a dear in the headlights, frozen in place. “I…”

George offers him up a smile. “But if you don’t wanna know, then that’s fine—“

“Shut up, George.” Matty exclaims. “I’ve had enough of it. Enough of you being fucking distracting tonight, enough of this stupid bet, enough of fit guys that are complete assholes, enough of fucking Ross and Leah, enough of Adam making faces at me every time I breathe near you, for fuck’s sake. I’ve had enough.”

George nods. “That’s fair.”

“So, do you fancy me, George?” Matty says quickly, when neither of them really expect it.

George flushes, stumbling over his words. “I didn’t think you’d actually say it, you know—“

“Well it’s your fault for letting me.” Matty narrows his eyes. “And you have to answer now, because I’m far too fucking tired of this, all of this… mess… just… what’s going on here, George? Because there’s something, the whole world can see there’s something, just tell me what it is and let me breathe.”

It’s George’s turn to hold his breath. “Um… I don’t know what it is.” He says. “I don’t think that’s mine to define, but…” He looks at Matty again, like he’s really taking him in for the first time.

“You look pretty tonight.” He tells him again, like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. Matty only wishes he could stop himself from smiling.

“Yeah, I’m fucking pretty.” Matty rolls his eyes, trying and failing to hide his smile. “We know that, George, come on, get on with it— yes or no. None of this… mess… not anymore.”

George sighs, looking anywhere but Matty’s eyes. “Is that not enough? I think you’re fucking pretty.”

“No, because I think Chelsea’s pretty but I definitely don’t want to snog her—“

“Matty.” George sighs, rubbing his eyes. He goes silent for a little while, and suddenly Matty can’t breathe again. “I… Yeah, okay fine. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it all. I fancy you a bit.”

“A bit?” Matty arches his eyebrows. Everything freezes over inside him, and he can’t process a thing. Nothing’s going in, but everything’s just happening.

“Shut up.” George shakes his head, cheeks flushed the kind of pink that Matty yearns to see more of. “There you fucking go, are you happy now?”

“No, ‘cos…” Matty frowns; there’s a knot in his chest that he doesn’t quite know how to undo. “You make me feel like I can’t breathe, George.” He says it without thinking.

George is still for a moment. Understandably, he doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” He asks, when at last he finds the words to say it with.

“Both.” Matty splutters out. “Both, and I hate it, and I…” He trails off. “I fancy you as well, but you guessed that ages ago, didn’t you?”

George frowns, leaning closer. “No… I… for fuck’s sake, Matty, I didn’t even know you were out fancying and pulling boys until this _week,_ I—“

“But isn’t it painfully fucking obvious?” Matty exclaims. “Because it really feels like it is, and it feels like it’s driving me insane.”

“Maybe I’m just oblivious.” George says, folding his arms across his chest. “And maybe I fancy you more than just a bit. Maybe I was just kinda scared to say it.” He blushes. “Fuck— I—“ He looks over at Matty. “Maybe I wouldn’t admit any of this sober, but I’m… I’m still not that drunk.”

“Me neither.” Matty admits. “I’m just…” He brushes his hair back behind his ear. “Fuck, George, this is why I don’t talk to you about boys, alright, so you can shut up being jealous, it’s ‘cause it’s you. I fucking fancy you.”

George snorts, leaning closer. “I’m always here to hear you talk about how much you fancy me.”

“Shut up, George.” Matty buries his head in his hands. “You’re fit, alright, but that’s all you’re getting.”

“Mm.” Suddenly George is in his space, reaching his arms around Matty.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Matty tells him, breathless and jittery like he’s had far too much caffeine.

“Like what?” George smirks, gaze soft and warm and all over him.

“Shut up, George.” Matty says again, and kisses him.

This was never how it was supposed to go, or how it was supposed to be, or at least not in his head. They were never in a side alley outside some random girl’s house, they were never half-way drunk, and they were never frustrated from their attempts to hook up with other people. It’s hardly romantic, but Matty’s suddenly unsure how he ever expected it to be. It’s them. It’s not some grand gesture, it’s not some heartfelt confession, it’s a dirty snog, all tongues and teeth and hands free roaming. And in the alleyway, it’s a secret kept between them and the moon.

Matty pulls back, trying to catch his breath. He looks up at George, eyes blown dark and wide, like he’s high and desperate for another hit.

“Yeah, now you really can’t breathe.” George’s hand slides down to Matty’s waist, and his lips are all smirks and bad ideas. Matty misses them already.

“Shut up, George.” He says, but doesn’t really mean it. George only grins at him.

“You smell good.” George tells him, pushing his face into his neck. Matty can’t help squirming when George’s lips brush over his throat; he’s looking for something to grab onto, anything, but he doesn’t necessarily mean to grab his hair.

George groans against his throat, and Matty feels volatile all over, like they’re made of electricity, and never mind breathing, he still can’t convince himself that this is real.

“George…” He murmurs.

“Mm?” George pulls back a little, meeting his eyes.

“What happens next?” Matty asks, cheeks flushed red.

“Whatever you want.” George tells him, and means it like a promise.

Matty folds his arms across his chest.

There’s a beat of silence.

George wrangles with a grin. “I was thinking, though, if we hook up with each other, then don’t we both win?”

Matty goes numb all over. “Are you still thinking about that fucking bet?”

“Yeah. Like it wasn’t just a badly orchestrated plan to make you jealous, but yeah it worked, didn’t it—“

“Excuse me?” Matty retorts, grabbing George by the hands. “You really thought, oh, how do I let Matty know that I like him— I know, I’m gonna go kiss someone else—“

“Yeah, and you really thought, how do I let George know I like him, oh yeah, I’m gonna go on about how fit some random dickhead is—“

“You’re fitter.” Matty tells him, and for the first time, the words come easily.

George grins, trying to hide his blush. “And it’s not just about the fucking bet. I want you.” He says it and means it.

Matty swallows hard; suddenly everything clicks in his head. “God.”

George snorts. “You can just call me George—“

Matty wants to slap him. He kisses him instead, though it feels just as forceful, with arms and hands everywhere, forever yanking them closer, like nothing is ever quite enough.

“Are we gonna sneak back inside?” Matty asks, cheeks flushed red, eyes rolled up into their sockets.

“No.” George hums, thinking quick. He says something dangerous, something stupid, something that reminds Matty just what he likes about him. “Come back to mine.”

Matty narrows his eyes, forever teasing, desperate to always be one step ahead. “You fucking want it, don’t you?”

George swallows, eyes heavy with something Matty doesn’t quite dare to name. “I want you.” He says.

Matty narrows his eyes. “You want whatever you can get.”

George clashes into him, all tongue and teeth. “I want whatever you’ll let me take.”

The moon watches them with a keen eye as they stumble through the maze of small town streets together. Matty isn’t sure where they’re going anymore, and he’s certain that George is just as lost as he is. Still, reality hasn’t yet kicked in. They feel eternal, untouchable, like the only thing Matty knows in the world, is the feeling of George’s fingers on him. It’s the only thing he _wants_ to know at least.

He spares a sudden thought for just what Adam and Ross are going to say about all of this. If they ever find out. If they ever let them.

Matty looks up to George. “Are we gonna tell Adam and Ross?”

“Tell them what?” George snorts, forever teasing. “The way you go completely still whenever I get near your neck?”

Matty flushes bright red; he’s glad, suddenly, for the darkness.

“No, for fuck’s sake, that… this… that it’s happening.” Matty groans, wishing he’d never said anything at all.

“How about another bet?” George snorts. Matty sighs. “Who can keep it up the longest without them finding out.”

Matty’s eyes go wide. “That’s a terrible idea, George.”

“Mm.” George bursts out with laughter. “And that’s why you like it.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like you even though you’re a terrible fucking person.” Matty lets George pull him closer, slinging his arm around his waist again. He puts thought of Adam and Ross to the back of his mind and forgets everything else.

Matty feels sick with deja vu, when he’s pressed up against the brickwork, squeezed into the doorway, and George is fumbling through every pocket in his jacket for the keys Matty’s sure at this point don’t even exist.

“That’s why I was weird at the beach.” Matty says suddenly, and George stops dead. “‘Cos I fancied you and didn’t know what to do with it, not when you were there all shirtless and getting in my space.”

George smirks. “You wanted me.”

“Yeah, are you fourteen, you sound so excited about it?” Matty rolls his eyes.

“It’s just you.” George tells him, finally finding the key that fits the lock. “You make me feel like I can’t think straight.”

“Nah.” Matty smirks. “That’s not me, that’s just what kissing boys does to you.”

“But I’m not kissing anyone else.” George pushes the door open. “Just you. Right now.”

Matty leans up to kiss him again, and George pulls him over the threshold.

Matty feels strange, lingering in George’s hallway, kicking his shoes off into the corner of a darkened room. He supposes George’s mum is home, but he doesn’t want to ask; he doesn’t want to know.

He feels still, alive the way a flame is, standing in the sheltered quiet of the darkness. He stares down the hallway and into the kitchen. He can see himself there, just days ago, falling to pieces, and George taking him in hand before he wanted him to.

George is stood, leaning against the banister, when Matty falls back into the present. He’s half-way watching him, half-way texting someone else. Matty feels a pang of jealousy that he doesn’t know what to do with.

George feels the questioning weight of Matty’s gaze on his. “Just letting Adam and Ross know that we aren’t dead.”

“Mm.” Matty nods. He looks over George with wide, blown eyes, ones that scream ‘give me your attention’, but he’s still left waiting.

George smirks at him as he slides his phone back into his pocket. “Just me and you now. Come here.” He doesn’t wait for Matty to fall into arms, but just takes him. Matty lets him. Matty thinks in this moment, he’d let George do anything to him. Anything he wanted. The thought feels just dangerous enough to excite him.

George’s hands are in his hair, Matty’s are braced onto the banister. The whole house shifts and creeks beneath them. Matty’s suddenly terrified of waking someone up, of having to explain this to anyone. George pulls away, catching his the fear in his eyes with a smirk.

“You alright?” He asks, a hand kept warm around Matty’s waist.

“Mm… I’m just.” Matty chokes on the moment. “Like I can’t breathe all over again.”

“And why’s that?” George asks him, concern soft in his dark eyes.

“Because I want you.” Matty says suddenly. He tells himself that it’s the drink talking, though there’s really little of it still left in his system. “And let me say stupid shit, ‘cos maybe I want you so much that it scares me.”

George’s hands are all over him again. “I want you more.” He presses his truth into the softest spot on Matty’s neck, painting everything purple and red. Matty lets him, Matty lets him take him apart and create new meaning out of the broken pieces. He wants to feel brand new.

George guides him up the stairs, stumbling in the darkness, Matty feels headless, Matty feels both younger and older than he’s ever been. He remembers this landing, he knows this house, and this house knows him too. This house remembers when he was still whole, before he’d let the world take anything from him; this house remembers him with child-like, hopeful eyes, and so does George.

George locks his bedroom door, and the house closes its eyes to them. Matty sits on the edge of George’s bed, all jitters and complication. His head is a war-zone of want and sense; he doesn’t know where he stands anymore.

And then George takes his shirt off, slinging it to his bedroom floor, and something solid within Matty sinks.

George smirks, like he can read Matty far too easily, and tears the distance between them to pieces. He pulls Matty up into his arms, and gets his hands under Matty’s blouse.

“Okay?” He checks, eyes suddenly solemn and composed, Matty only nods, because he can’t quite get the words out.

Then George’s hands are everywhere again, making something out of nothing, making everything out of anything, and Matty feels strange, sat shirtless, all skinny and slumped in on himself. It’s not like George hasn’t seen him shirtless before, but everything feels different like this; everything feels different with George’s eyes wandering and no one trying to stop them.

George crashes his lips back into Matty’s, throwing them both down onto the mattress. Matty’s eyes fall open. He looks up at the ceiling and sees stars. Sees himself in shadow forms, sees George all over him, sees himself made brand new.

Everything that follows comes in echoes and reverberations. Matty’s head buried into George’s shoulder. George’s hands on Matty’s thighs. Skin on skin on skin on skin. Sweat, slick, hot scent, everything breathing in. The kind of ache that’s grounding. Soft, brown curls cascading. Hands make shapes against Matty’s back. George’s shoulder blades, like knives tearing through the moonlight. Love feels violent for a moment, and Matty lets it. He comes down thinking, that all this time, he’s been mistaking violence for passion — just because something bleeds, that doesn’t mean that it’s broken.

He comes down still attached to George in a million places, he comes down head spinning, he comes down like he’s never properly stood on planet earth before. And George’s smile is soft, and his gaze soft, all over him, just like he wants it.

“Okay?” George asks him again, reaching a hand up to brush Matty’s hair back from his eyes.

“Yeah…” Matty manages, choked out with a sigh. Everything suddenly feels like static in his mind.

“Mm.” George nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and pulling his arms free from around him. Like that, they untangle, and George stumbles off to the bathroom, leaving Matty sat on his bed, naked, and yet more exposed than he’s ever been, hair sticking up at all angles, eyes fixated only on the moon outside.

When George returns a minute or so later, he has sweatpants on, and his hair wrangled back into a bun. Matty smiles at him, brighter than he’d ever fathomed being. George smiles back.

“You wanna borrow something to put on?” George asks him, while he’s standing up. “Not that you have to but—“

“T-shirt.” Matty says, pulling the bobble on his wrist haphazardly around his hair. “Big one.” He adds, when George meanders over to the wardrobe.

“Black?” George suggests, pulling one out of his closet.

Matty nods, and catches it when George throws it onto the bed.

“Wanna smoke?” George is all talk, all questions, but nothing that really means anything. He closes the closet door, and hovers near the window.

“Yeah.” Matty supposes, pulling himself up into a proper sitting position. “Open the window at least. I feel all hot and disgusting.”

George snorts, making a face. “I wonder why.”

Matty flips his the finger and steals one of his cigarettes, though in that moment, everything feels so shared, that the difference seems invisible.

George sits next to him on the bed, letting Matty rest his head against the side of his chest.

“So we both win then.” George starts up again. “The bet. I’d say we both win.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up about your stupid bet.”

George snorts. “Maybe I kind of like how much it pisses you off.”

“Yeah, well aren’t you a fucking gentleman?” Matty shakes his head.

“Never said I was.” George raises his eyebrows, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mm.” Matty turns to face him. “So what is this? What happens next?”

George goes still all over — that’s the question that terrifies them both, heavy with the weight of every truth that they can’t bear to admit.

“Whatever you want, I guess.” George speaks first, after something finally comes to mind.

“So, it’s all on me?” Matty throws out a frown. “Oh yeah, way to make it easy, George.”

George smiles. “You know what I want.”

“No, George, I fucking don’t— and that’s the entire point of this whole fucking mess—“

George sighs, pulling Matty closer. “I want you.” He says again. “I told you that just now like a thousand times.”

“It means something different though, when you’re talking about sex, and when you’re talking about something else.” Matty shakes his head. “And I don’t know where you’re drawing that line yet.”

“Of course this is more than just sex.” George looks to Matty in disbelief.

“Mm.” Matty pulls his legs up into his chest. “I know you’re saying that ‘cause you mean it, because I know you, but George, that’s what every lad ever has said to me, and it’s always bullshit. It’s always just sex, and… then it dies, then it’s all just text messages that one of us ignores.”

George thinks back to the guy from the other week, he grimaces at the thought. “How the hell am I meant to ignore you, though? We see each other everyday, your mates are my mates, we’re… we were so much before we slept together, you know that, so I don’t see why you’re scared all of that’s going to disappear.”

“Because, George.” Matty lets out a sigh, “I’m used to being reduced to a sexual object, and men are fucking garbage.”

George smiles, pulling him closer. “Oh, come on, I’ll even let you steal my cigarettes and sit and talk shit with me. This is more than just sex.”

“Because I want everything.” Matty says suddenly, before he can get too scared. “I don’t just want sex, I don’t just want cuddles and chats, I don’t just want little pieces of people and affection. I want… I want a boyfriend, George.” Matty lets out a sigh. “A proper boyfriend, and I—“

“I’m single, and I fancy you a lot, so… I don’t see what the problem is.” George finishes his cigarette and gets up to stub it out into the ashtray by the window. He brings the ashtray back, and sets it down on the floor beneath them.

“I’m just scared.” Matty admits. “I want that.” He says, and lets himself mean it. “To be your boyfriend, to do this properly, to do fucking something properly for the first time in my life, but…”

“Slowly, then.” George can almost sense his fears. “It doesn’t have to be all at once, we can do things slow, and you can tell who you want, and not tell who you want, and—“

“George…” Matty lets his head rest in his hands. “There’s no way you’ve got that much patience.

George thinks for a moment, coming up with something smart to say. Matty can’t hold back a smirk, already anticipating the fallout. “But you’re worth waiting for.”

Matty snorts. “Cheesy, yeah, well done, but, sweet too. I’ll give you that.” He reaches down to stub his cigarette out into the ashtray.

“But if we’re doing this properly, even slowly, it has to still be properly.” Matty holds his gaze. “I can’t be fucked around again, and I’m especially not gonna let someone like you fuck me around.”

George nods. “I’m not gonna.” He promises him.

“Okay, so I mean… ground rules, no getting with anyone else—“

“Matty, you don’t have to tell me how a relationship works.” George narrows his eyes.

“You’d be surprised at the amount of lads who can’t grasp that—“

“Well, I’m not some random dickhead you’ve met at a bar or something, I’m me, I’m George, and I know you, and I know what upsets you, and I’m never going to do something that’d do that.” George holds his gaze and means every word. “It’s as simple as that.”

Matty lets out a sigh. “I really wish it was.”

“Well, it is, so just trust me.” George holds out his hand. “Trust me.”

Matty takes it, squeezing it tight. He looks George up and down again as if for the first time. “George, I swear to God, if you fuck me around, I don’t even care, I’m gonna get Ross to beat you up.”

George snorts. “I mean yeah, but I’m not sure Ross can beat anyone up.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “I’ll train him up. Just in case.”

George sighs. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m just scared, George.” Matty admits suddenly, as they look on out to the moon. “I’m scared of losing you.”

“I’m scared of that too.” George tells him, “But you shouldn’t let fear stop you.”

“God.” Matty buries his head in his hands. George kisses the side of his head. “What are we going to tell everyone else?”

“Nothing. Anything. Everything.” George says. “Whatever you want.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer, letting the hour get late enough to get early again.

Matty has his fingers curled in around the barrel of a lighter. He thinks it’s George’s, and part of him wants to keep it forever. “You said…” He starts up again suddenly, his voice soft and slow. George perks up from where he’d been sprawled out across the mattress, cigarette in hand.

“I said?” George confirms, joining Matty in sitting at the end of the mattress.

“You said about that… bet…” Matty makes a face. “You said that if you win, you wanted to ask me a question.”

“Mm.” George nods.

“What was the question?” He frowns, curious and unable to help himself.

“Why?” George smirks, “Are you gonna answer it?”

“Depends what it is.” Matty turns to him. “And anyway, I said if I win—“

“The beach, I know.” George nods, rolling his eyes. “It’s like one in the morning, Matty.”

“And what?” Matty frowns. “I’m not tired. Are you?”

“Tired of you.” George snorts. Matty pulls himself up from the edge of the bed and walks across George’s room to the window.

“Road’ll be clear.” Matty adds, turning a smile back over his shoulder. “And the moon’s out, all bright and clear—“

“You’re gonna have to put some proper clothes on first.” George makes a face.

“I can do that.” Matty protests.

George laughs. “I didn’t doubt that you could, I just meant that I’d find it disappointing.”

“Oh, shut up, George.” Matty rolls his eyes. George laughs again, at Matty, at himself, at the two of them, at everything.

Matty reaches around for the heap of the floor he’d left his clothes in, and pulls his trousers back on. He turns them to George’s wardrobe, and throws a t-shirt at him. George sighs, giving in and pulling it over his head.

-

Unsurprisingly, Matty can get nothing good on the radio at twenty past one in the morning, so they have to sit back nicely and talk to each other for a good twenty minutes. Though, George has already driven them most of the way before Matty can think of anything worth saying.

“What were you going to ask me?” Matty prompts, pulling his knees up to his chest. “‘Cause if I’m making you take us down to the beach—“

“At one in the morning.” George reminds him.

“At one in the morning.” Matty confirms. “Then it only seems fair that you get some sort of compensation.”

“I never knew what I was gonna ask you exactly.” George is slow with his response, like he’s choosing every word carefully — it’s a prospect that both intrigues and terrifies Matty. “But it was gonna be something like… something like do you fancy me?”

“And you were gonna _make_ me answer that?” Matty stares at him, eyes blown wide and horrified.

“You pretty much _made_ me answer it earlier, if you haven’t forgotten.” George rolls his eyes.

“But that’s different.” Matty protests.

“What?” George snorts. “Because you’re you and I’m me?”

“No, because…” Matty frowns, letting out a sigh. “You know I’ve had all this big thing and anxiety and panic in my head about… about how I felt about you and what all that meant, and what you were gonna think, and whether you were gonna find out — like I couldn’t stop worrying about that, you know? I thought it was so obvious, but I just couldn’t—… help myself.”

George struggles to bite back a smirk. “It got obvious when you started demanding to know if I fancied you.”

“Yeah, well, that was…” Matty sighs. “I guess after everything happened. Us trying and failing to fuck other people.”

George snorts. “And no more fucking other people now, that was our last chance.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Matty rests his head in his hands. “I seem pretty terrible at choosing the right people.”

“I think you did alright with me, though.” George notes, biting back a grin.

Matty rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, you would say that—“

“I mean it, though.” George tells him. “And I… I’m not good at saying it, at saying anything to be honest, but… you mean a lot to me, and I was going crazy about it too, before tonight, you know? I just didn’t have the words for it. Or maybe I did, I just didn’t want to say them out loud.”

“So that was your master plan?” Matty lets out a giggle. “You were gonna try and fuck somebody else first and then through that blackmail me into telling you whether I fancied you.”

George makes a face. “Yeah, maybe that…”

“Not one of our best ideas.” Matty smiles.

“Maybe Adam was right.” George suggests.

“God, don’t say that.” Matty exclaims, face turning white with horror. “I know we’re idiots, but you didn’t have to go that far.”

George struggles to contain his laughter.

Once again, unsurprisingly, the beach is cold and barren when they pull up into the small carpark at something close to quarter to two in the morning. George looks at Matty again, making another ’this was a stupid idea’ face. Matty feels lucky this time around, because he doesn’t have to put the effort into thinking of a dignified response; instead, he just grabs George and kisses him, and that about does the job of shutting him up.

“You gonna get in the water now that it’s freezing?” George makes a face of disbelief, pulling the bag of assorted shit they’d been able to gather back at his house out of the boot.

“Yeah!” Matty exclaims, stretching his arms out as he stumbles down onto the beach. “I’m not fucking scared.”

“You’re so gonna regret saying that.” George tells him, but runs after him nonetheless.

Then they’re two boys, shivering in their underwear, with a pile of clothes dumped into a pile on the beachfront.

“It’s not that cold.” Matty protests, even with his arms folded tight around his chest.

George makes a point out of laughing at him. “You haven’t gotten in the water yet.”

_”Fine.”_ Matty rolls his eyes, and begins to wade in through the shallows. George hangs back a while, watching from the shoreline, just to see him squirm.

“Fuck.” Matty lets out a gasp as the cold water rolls over his calves. George snorts, before hurrying in and joining him.

“George.” Matty looks up to him, eyes wide and horrified. “You never told me it was gonna be this cold.”

George laughs at him. “Well, it wasn’t this cold in the afternoon.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “Fuck it.” He reaches for George’s hand. “You’re doing this with me.”

“Am I?” George turns to him in disbelief.

“You’re my boyfriend now.” Matty says it loud, just because he can. “So get used to it.”

“What?” George laughs again. “You making me do stupid shit with you for no reason? I’m sure that was still going on _before_ we started fucking—“

“Oh, shut up, George.” Matty rolls his eyes, dragging George in for a kiss, before, pulling them both further into the water. George lets out a gasp of surprise; Matty takes too much pleasure in laughing at him.

“I’ve noticed.” George adds, when they’re standing waist deep, and just about getting used to the temperature. “You kissing me when you know you’re wrong but don’t want to admit it.”

“Is it a problem?” Matty arches his eyebrows, stepping out further into the water. “‘Cause I don’t see you complaining.”

George rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna start doing that when we’re around everybody else?”

“Yeah.” Matty decides suddenly, more because he’s just amused by the prospect than anything else. “With no warning, we’re not gonna tell anyone we’re together, we’re just gonna—“ Matty cuts himself off with a fit of laughter.

George shakes his head. “So we just have to wait for you to be wrong about something? That won’t exactly be long, will it—“

Matty pulls them further into the water, despite George’s protesting. “You’re wrong now.” Matty tells him. “Saying that I’d never get in.”

George makes a face. “Do I have to kiss you now?”

Matty blows his eyes wide. “Don’t talk like it’s a fucking chore—“

George snorts, pulling him closer. “You’re an idiot.” He tells him, before he puts his hands everywhere.

When they pull away for air, Matty realises that he’s not at all sure how he ended up snogging George whilst stood in the freezing ocean. He thinks that it’s something that he could probably call romantic in prospect, but in actuality, it just feels weird. Matty knows, of course, that this is all about proving a point, less so to George, but more to himself.

“I’m not scared.” He says again, holding George close for warmth. “And I…—“

“Matty, you’re shivering.” George makes a face at him. “Come on, because I’m not taking you to A&E at two in the morning ‘cos you’ve got hypothermia— because then we’d definitely have to explain to not just Adam and Ross, but like, your mum, just what the fuck is going on.”

Matty sighs. “My mum already probably knows, to be fair.”

George shakes his head. “I’m not letting you get hypothermia, whatever kind of stupid excuse you want to come up with— now come on, or do I have to carry you—“

“I just wanna…” Matty thinks for a moment. He looks up to the moon and kisses George again. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good now.”

George frowns at him, but doesn’t ask any questions, so long as Matty agrees to get out of the water. They’re silent again, until they’re sat back on the shoreline, in their clothes again, huddled together, perhaps not just for warmth. George is rummaging in the bag for his cigarettes, Matty’s staring out at the ocean, wondering what comes next.

“Tell me if you feel like you’re gonna die of hypothermia.” George says, offering Matty a cigarette.

“Mm.” Matty holds his cigarette out for George to light. “Don’t really feel like I’m dying right now, but I’ll let you know.”

George snorts. “This was a bad idea.”

“What?” Matty raises his eyebrows. “Letting me smoke?”

“No, you idiot, taking you out here.” George shakes his head.

“A bet’s a bet, though, isn’t it? And if I remember correctly, you were the one that was so adamant about that—“

“Shut up, I just wanted to win.” George’s face is flushed red, so Matty knows not to push it, but part of him still wants to. After all, he has no idea where any of their boundary lines are anymore. He thinks he’s gonna have to learn George all over again; they’re speaking a new language now between them.

“What?” Matty goes for it regardless. “So you could ask your award winning question—“

George rolls his eyes. “I was trying my best.”

Matty isn’t convinced.

“Do you think Ross is gonna get anywhere with Leah?” Matty asks suddenly.

“Oh, so you _do_ remember her name?” George can’t stop himself from smirking.

“Eyebrows.” Matty corrects himself, face flushed red.

George shakes his head. “You’re not fooling me—“

“Well good thing I’m not trying to.” Matty sighs. “Just answer the fucking question.”

“Maybe they’ve had a kiss, max, but—“

“Yeah.” Matty laughs. “Ross is trying his best, but—“

“He’s not prepared to take someone he fancies out to a freezing cold beach at one in the morning, so…” George smirks, wrapping an arm around Matty’s waist.

“Oh yeah, ‘cos he really needs advice from you, doesn’t he? Should get him to have a bet with her — who can sleep with other people—“

George kisses him that time, pulling Matty into his space and keeping him there. When they pull away again, Matty’s forgotten what they were even talking about.

“Anyway, that kind of stupid shit, bets and the beach at one in the morning, almost getting hypothermia… I’m not sure that works on girls.”

Matty’s eyes widen. “I’m not sure that works on _anybody else.”_

George shakes his head.

“As we both know by now, I have ridiculously low standards—“

George gives him a gentle shove.

“But I’m good at pulling you.” George decides that’s something to be proud about.

“Yeah, you’re good at pulling someone who fancies you so much they feel like they can’t breathe around you— yeah, I wouldn’t say that’s particularly difficult—“

“You’re sort of taking the piss out yourself with that one though.” George smiles at him. “Can you really not breathe—“

“Well I can _now.”_ Matty shakes his head. “I meant before, when everything was just anxieties and what ifs and I didn’t know where I stood and what you thought of me.”

“You know what I think of you now.” George says.

“Yeah, I do—“

“I think you’re well fit.” George says and kisses his cheek.

“Very romantic, George.” Matty rolls his eyes. “Well done.”

“Don’t think you’re much for romantic, though.” George eyes him. “Not typical romantic anyway, I think you like it best when everything’s a fucking mess.”

“No.” Matty tells him, “That’s just what you do to your surroundings, and I’ve learned to tolerate it.”

“Shut up, Matty.” George says, mimicking him, and Matty takes too long deciding whether he wants to kiss him or slap him.

“So we think Ross hasn’t got anywhere?” George confirms. Matty nods. “Mm… if he hasn’t, he’s gonna be pissed that we have, don’t you think?”

“Stop bullying him.” Matty tells him. “He’s trying his best.”

George shakes his head, and the two of them burst into laughter.

“Come on,” George says suddenly, finishing his cigarette. “Come back to mine?”

Matty nods. “And do what?” He asks later, once George has already started lumping their shit back into the bag.

“Sleep.” George tells him, incredulously. “It’s two in the morning, Matty, Jesus Christ.”

Matty shakes his head. “I’m not tired yet.”

“Well, come back to mine and lay in bed next to me staring up at the ceiling while I sleep— whatever you like, just get somewhere warm, alright?”

Matty smiles to himself, following George back up to the car. “You’re worried about me.” He says, while George is piling the bag into the boot.

George makes a face, trying to avoid the accusation.

“You are.” Matty tells him, face hugging a grin. “It’s cute.” He adds, before pulling open the passenger door and trying to find something decent on the radio.

There’s this one song that Matty hasn’t heard in years and he can’t quite name; he doesn’t particularly like it, but it fills the roll of background noise just fine. George says he’s concentrating on driving, but Matty can tell he’s thinking, thinking about him, thinking about all of this. Matty resigns himself to silence and wonders if he’ll ever truly know what goes on in George’s head.

They go through the motions again. Car in the driveway, gravel underfoot, doorway, porch light, George can never find his keys, shoes kicked off into the darkness, struggling against the banister, hands guiding him upstairs, George’s bedroom, sprawled out across this mattress. Matty stares up at the ceiling and wonders how this all feels so new despite the fact that they’ve done it all a thousand times before.

Matty sits and watches as George attempts to make sense out of this mess, putting his phone on to charge, leaving the bag by the windowsill — another thing to deal with in the morning — before taking his clothes off. He looks to Matty for a moment.

“You want something to sleep in?” He asks.

Matty shrugs, pulling off his shirt. “You want me naked either way.”

George rolls his eyes. “Do you want something or not?”

Matty stands up to pull off his trousers. “Do _you?”_ He asks, making a suggestive face.

George just laughs at him. “You’re cute.” He says.

Matty frowns at him. “Stop belittling me, George.”

But George’s arms are all around him again. “I’m not.” He says, into the crook of Matty’s neck. “I promise.”

Matty lets George hold him, lets himself feel warm, until everything becomes hazy and all he can smell is his scent.

“I want to go to sleep.” George tells him, kissing the back of his neck and pulling away. “And so should you,” He says, getting under the covers.

Matty frowns, but complies when George pats the space in bed next to him. He has to admit that he feels strange like this, just laid side by side — it’s not something they haven’t done before, share the same bed, but still, like everything else, it feels different this time.

George leans over to check his phone. Matty watches his expression turn up into a smile.

“Oh my god, they’re still at the party—“

“And you were the one moaning at me for wanting to go to the beach at one in the morning.” Matty shakes his head. “You’re a hypocrite, George, you are.”

George rolls his eyes and slides his phone back onto the bedside table. “Where’s your phone?” He asks Matty. “Do you want me to put it onto charge?”

“In my jeans, probably.” Matty makes a face. George makes a move to get up. “Let it die.” He tells him.

George frowns.

“Stay here.” Matty asks him, letting his head down against the pillow.

“I’m not going anywhere.” George promises him, laying down so they’re both eye to eye.

“Mm.” Matty sighs. “I know that. It’s just different to fully believing it.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, believe me.” George makes another promise, and Matty tries his best to believe in it. To believe in him. To believe that this isn’t all going to fade away come morning.

Matty reaches for George’s hand, intertwining their fingers. He rests their hands on the pillows between their heads, where they can both see the mess they’ve made.

“What happens in the morning?” Matty asks him, looking up. In a world made of glass, no one could blame him for anticipating the broken pieces.

“We wake up.” George tells him, smiling. “And maybe you have a hangover, I don’t know, I won’t, I think the worst of it’s already passed, but… then we eat something, and then I guess we’re gonna have to listen to Ross’ fully detailed account of last night.”

Matty smiles, shaking his head. “No, I mean like… what happens if they ask us, what happens if—“

“Matty.” George squeezes his hand tight. “How about we just take everything as it comes? How about you stop worrying about things that might never happen and go to sleep?”

“And you’re going to be there when I wake up?” Matty frowns, uncertain.

George has to restrain himself from laughter. “Matty, where else would I go? This is my house.”

Matty sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“You’re tired.” George tells him, reaching across and brushing Matty’s hair behind his ear. “Go to sleep.”

“Not yet.” Matty insists. “Not until you do.”

George rolls his eyes and reaches over to turn off the bedside light. He lies back down against the pillow and closes his eyes.

Matty waits a few moments while his eyes adjust to the darkness, before untangling their fingers, and moving into George’s chest. He feels George smile into his shoulder as he pulls his arms around his back, pulling him in closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” George promises him.

Matty sighs and finally lets himself close his eyes. George’s fingertips brush over his shoulder blades, tracing the arc in his back, redefining him under the moonlight. Slowly everything turns to static around them, and for the first time Matty no longer fears drowning, to the extent that he trusts himself to float.

-

Matty’s alone when he wakes up, drowning in sunlight streaming in through the windows. The bed is still warm beside him, and the bedroom door wide open. Matty struggles with his thoughts and forces himself into a sitting position.

He checks George’s phone for the time. 8:44. Too early. Too late. Everything and nothing at once. Matty puts George’s phone back where he found it, and stares out across the room.

The floor seems to be entirely just various piles of clothes and scattered possessions, and Matty’s phone, probably dead by now in the trousers he’d worn last night. Last night. The party. The bet. The kiss. Coming home. The beach. The icy water. Coming home again.

He hears George’s footsteps in the doorway.

“You’re wrong.” Matty says, gaze fixated on the window. “I’m not hungover.”

Matty turns and George is there in just a towel, damp hair falling into his face. Matty blinks, and he doesn’t disappear. Matty doesn’t know what he’d expected, though he knows even less about what he’d wanted.

“Mmm.” George nods, closing the door, struggling to cross his bedroom floor amidst all of the mess. “You can go shower if you want.” He says, and Matty tries not to watch him change.

Matty tugs out a sigh and lies back in bed. He’s not hungover, but he almost wishes he was — at least then he’d have something tangible to complain about, because he feels weird and off and terrified, and the only explanation he has is this. Is him. George, standing shirtless in a pair of jeans, with his towel to the floor.

Matty wishes everything didn’t feel so volatile — like life and death, and not so much like everything in between. He doesn’t notice when George turns to look at him.

“You alright?” George asks, encompassing all impossible questions in one.

“Is anyone else home?” Matty responds with just another question.

“My mum.” George says. “But she only got back from work by the time we were asleep.”

“So, she’s…”

“In bed now, probably.” George shrugs, pulling on a t-shirt.

Matty rubs his eyes. “I don’t really know what to do.” He says. “In general, with everything. Everything feels different now.”

“It shouldn’t.” George tells him, closing the wardrobe, and climbing onto the end of the bed to sit with him.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t change the fact that it does.” Matty strings out a sigh.

George pulls an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had coffee. And something to eat.”

“Mm.” Matty nods; he doesn’t have the strength to argue — he only hopes that George is right.

“And put some clothes on.” George tells him. “In case my mum wakes up.”

Matty snorts, burying his red cheeks in his hands. “Fine.” He agrees, climbing out of bed and reaching for last night’s trousers.

“I’ll make us breakfast, yeah?” George asks, watching Matty wrestle his phone out of the pocket.

“Yeah, put this on charge as well.” Matty throws his phone vaguely in George’s direction, before pulling his trousers on. “And I’m gonna steal a t-shirt, no, maybe a hoodie—“

George snorts, lingering in the doorway. “Steal what you want, just hurry up.”

Then they’re piled into the sofa downstairs, limbs everywhere. Matty thinks it’s George’s fault, because his legs are far too long, that neither of them can sit properly, but if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really mind at all.

“I’m right.” George says, starting on his second slice of toast.

Matty makes a face of disbelief.

“You do feel better now you’ve eaten.”

“Well done, George, what is that like? Common knowledge?” Matty rolls his eyes.

The face George makes is just affectionate enough to infuriate him. George checks the time. “Oh, ten past nine, is that when the sarcasm turns on?”

Matty shakes his head, before burying his face behind his mug of coffee.

“Ross wants us all to meet later.” George says, gauging Matty’s reaction over the top of his phone. “So, I’m assuming either nothing or everything’s happened.”

Matty sighs. “We still win.”

George raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Us.” Matty sits up properly, as much as he’s able. “We win. I literally don’t care if they’ve got married in Paris over night or something, we still win—“

“Win what?” George asks him.

Matty shrugs. “Bragging rights.”

George snorts. “As if Ross would have a shotgun wedding in Paris—“

“Mmm.” Matty makes a face. “That’s more me than him.”

George shakes his head. “Not happening. Not yet anyway.”

Matty smiles into his mug of coffee. “Yeah, the shotgun wedding’s usually the deal breaker.”

George grins. “Paris is nice though.”

“Yeah.” Matty says, staring into the distance.

“So, in a couple of hours—“

“What?” Matty makes a face, forever teasing, forever pushing, just to see how far things can go. “Paris?”

George sighs. _”Ross’ house.”_

“Fine.” Matty sighs, pulling his arms across his chest.

“What do you wanna do then?” George asks him.

“Just sit here.” Matty admits, resting his chin in the palm of his hands. “With you.”

George rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He says.

“It’s true.” Matty insists.

“You’re cute.” George says instead, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

“How pissed off is Ross gonna be if he wants his ten minutes breathing near L- _Eyebrows_ to have the spotlight and we’re—“

“Be nice, Matty.” George shakes his head. “You don’t have to suck my face off right when he’s trying to talk, you know?”

“I never said I want to—“ Matty protests. George narrows his eyes. “Fine, but—“

“Be nice.” George reminds him.

“I _am_ nice.” Matty insists, but George knows better than to believe him.

They’re upstairs again and George is trying to make his room look less like a bomb site, while Matty stands hovering with his phone in his hands. There’s a message from Chelsea — _’how did it go last night?’._ He doesn’t know what to tell her; he doesn’t even know where to begin.

He looks up at George, vaguely talking at him, or just talking to himself, while he tries to sort piles of clothes into what Matty can only call bigger piles of clothes, and finds himself unable to bite back a smile. He texts Chelsea back and types — _’good’._ He deletes it again and sends — _’great’._

-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, they arrive late to Ross’ house. Matty is glad at least that Ross looks too hungover to take notice. Adam, as usual, is looking between Matty and George with the kind of rampant curiosity that makes Matty want to scream it from the rooftops, just so they could have a little room to breathe.

At last, George looks at him, and Matty catches his breath a little easier. He thinks suddenly of the beach, of the freezing cold water — this certainly isn’t the most dangerous thing he’s done in the last twenty four hours, but he still can’t quiet the pounding of his heartbeat.

Matty isn’t really listening when Ross starts talking; he’s only aware of the sofa and George curled up next to him, and George’s arm pulled in discreetly around his back. He wonders whether anyone’s noticed yet; he wonders if he wants them to. But in the hope of not attracting Adam’s immediate attention, he looks vaguely in Ross’ direction like he’s listening, and eventually the buzzing static sound in his brain turns back into words again.

“…and she said to me, you know, that I’d have to owe her, and I was like, yeah, that’s fine, because well, that gives me more of an excuse to talk to her again— except I didn’t say that bit out loud ‘cause that’s awkward, but… then anyway I think she started talking about me to her mate, you know one of the blonde ones…”

Matty turns to George, eyes blown wide and bored out of his mind. He makes a face, a badly constructed impression of Ross, and George has to try his best not to laugh.

“…and then I don’t know whether they were talking about him or me, and then the blonde girl came over to me, and I was asked her where Leah was, but she just wanted to talk, and I was—“

“Wait…” Matty can’t stop himself from interrupting. “What the fuck are we on about again? Because, I’m sorry, Ross, but you’ve completely lost me.” George lets out a sigh in the shape of a half-formed apology.

“Well, I can start again if you want—“ Ross offers.

“Don’t.” Matty leans back into George and lets out a sigh. “So did you fuck her? The blonde girl, or eyebrows, or none, or both, or—“

“Not everything’s about sex, Matty.” Adam tells him, shooting a look in Ross’ direction that Matty thinks feels a lot like an apology on his behalf.

“It is.” Matty shakes his head. “When it comes down to it.”

George snorts next to him, catching his eye for a brief moment. “You know that’s not true.”

Matty sighs, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean— Ross did you fuck her or what—“

Ross blinks at him like he’s entirely forgotten what they were discussing. “Uhh… who? No, I… I think the blonde girl, her name, I think was Amy, she’s nice, I think she wanted to, but Leah…”

“Oh yeah.” George bites back a smirk. “Trying to get with other people never makes a good impression on the person you fancy.”

Matty glares at him. George doesn’t say anything.

Adam’s gaze is fixed dead on them, like he’s trying to unpick the silent lines of conversation between them, but everything’s different now, written down in a language he can’t quite decipher. Matty wonders if that alone says enough, or if Adam still isn’t sure quite what this kind of different means.

“Well… how about you two?” Ross asks, trying to look a little more enthusiastic and a little less hungover and dead inside. “Who won the bet?”

“Oh yeah, the bet.” Adam makes a face of discomfort.

Matty snorts, looking up to George to answer. George looks at him for a brief moment, eyes wide, like ‘what do you want me to say?’. Matty only smiles.

“It was a draw.” George says, which isn’t untrue, but still vague enough to allow them both breathing room.

“Right…” Ross frowns. “How does that work? You both pull someone at exactly the same time.”

Matty smirks. “Something like that yeah. I mean, we got kind of bored after a bit, so we left.”

“Right, so did you pull someone before or after it was only you two?” Ross grins, and Matty tries not to feel too much like he’s laughing at Ross’ expense.

“Oh, no.” Matty persists. “We were still at the party. The bet is a party only situation, if we’d had left the party, it wouldn’t have counted.”

“So, if it was a draw, does that mean there’s gonna be a rematch?” Adam asks from behind a mug of coffee.

George eyes him suspiciously. “I thought you hated the idea of it—“

“I’m just asking.” Adam shrugs.

“No, ‘cos we’ve already established that George is shit at pulling, and that was the point of the whole thing.” Matty smiles, ignoring George making eyes at him.

“I wasn’t _that_ shit.” George insists. “I was no shitter than you, and you were well shit, so that’s fucking saying something.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “Shut up, George.”

George laughs, shaking his head. “Shut up, Matty.” He mimics. Matty gives him another one of those looks — like he wants to either kill him or kiss him, but he just hasn’t made his mind up yet.

“So, a rematch?” Ross asks, intrigued by the prospect. “Can I be entered into the competition? Make it a bit more interesting—“

Adam shakes his head. “Don’t encourage them—“

“No, because me and George did both actually pull, but you, I don’t know what you did, sit around talking to some random girl, the mate of the girl you actually fancy—“

“Like you weren’t talking to that lad.” George adds, his voice low, but Matty’s sure that Adam and Ross both pick up on it anyway. Matty flushes.

“Who did you guys pull then?” Ross asks, genuinely curious. “A lad?” He asks Matty. Matty nods, because that part isn’t untrue.

“What was his name?” Adam asks; Matty’s sure that his sudden interest is a little less than genuine, but Matty knows how to play games too.

“I can’t tell you.” Matty smirks, pulling his knees up to his chest. “It’s a secret.”

“What do you mean his name was a secret?” Ross frowns, looking to Adam in disbelief.

“He was under witness protection.” George adds, before he can stop himself, and Matty collapses into his lap with laughter.

“…Right…” Ross looks to Adam, again unconvinced. “Are you sure that these people were actually real—“

Adam shakes his head. “No, I think neither of them pulled anyone, and that’s why it’s a draw.”

“Excuse me?” Matty interjects, horrified by their accusations. “I did pull, and so did George—“

“Fucking witness protection.” Ross lets out a sigh. “And what about you, George? Can you give us a name or—“

“Witness protection again.” George adds, smirking to himself. “We all witnessed the same thing, so it was very traumatic, and we don’t want to talk about it anymore—“

“What?” Adam lets out a sigh.

“Ross trying to pull.” Matty says, before he can think better of it. George shoots him a look. Ross just sighs.

“Doesn’t sound like either of you did either, so.” Ross makes a face, lighting himself a cigarette.

“Well…” Matty trails off. He feels the weight of George’s gaze on him; there’s some sort of warning in there somewhere, but Matty doesn’t care to find it.

“Well what?” Ross asks him, a little argumentative.

Matty fails to bite back a smirk, and George only realises what he’s doing before it’s too late; he seems at least glad that he isn’t directly implicated. Matty pulls his bobble from his wrist, and pulls his hair up into a bun, leaving his neck exposed.

Adam makes a face like he’s going to throw up. George has to restrain his laughter.

“Jesus Christ, Matty, that one looks like it’s going purple.” Ross lets out a sigh.

“Please don’t say that.” Adam buries his head in his hands.

“It’s more of a mauve.” George says, pointing to the hickey directly.

“Mauve is purple, you idiot.” Matty turns to him, biting back laughter.

“Do I look like I know what mauve is?” George sighs, leaning back against the sofa.

“Maroon.” Ross adds. “I think you mean maroon.”

“Oh yeah, maroon, I can see that, but still it’s a bit mauve—“

“Mauve _is_ purple—“ Matty exclaims.

“Yeah, I know that now, and I’m saying that it’s a bit purple.” George shakes his head in disbelief.

Adam mumbles some sort of vague excuse and leaves the room.

“Christ, Matty…” Ross shakes his head. “That’s a bit… excessive…”

“Nah, it was ‘cos he’d been in witness protection, he had a lot of emotions to let out.” Matty looks to George, letting out a smirk.

“Right…” Ross trails off.

“So I _did_ pull, thank you very much.” Matty says, letting his hair back down again.

“But what about George?” Ross won’t let it go. “Where’s your proof?”

“George has hickeys on his arse he can show you if you want—“ Matty doubles over laughing.

“I don’t—“ George protests, shaking his head. “Ross,” He looks at him. “Please believe me, I don’t have hickeys on my arse cheeks.”

Adam walks back in with a fresh mug of coffee and instantly thinks about walking back out again.

“I don’t care what you do and don’t have on your arse as long as you don’t show me.” Ross shakes his head, looking to Adam for help, or sanity, or anything at all.

“I don’t have anything on my arse.” George insists.

Matty only manages to stop laughing long enough to breathe.

“Fine, whatever, but can we just stop talking about it?” Ross lets out a sigh.

“So, I have to prove it, but he doesn’t— this is double standards.” Matty looks to Adam for support.

“Here’s my proof.” George sits up. Adam braces himself. “I pulled and Matty knows I pulled, because if he didn’t he wouldn’t be saying it was a draw, would he?”

Ross shrugs. “Point, isn’t it?”

“So, they both actually pulled real people?” Adam frowns. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Thanks.” Matty rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean, for the sake of a bet, it’s a bit…” Adam trails off, looking to Matty and then to George. “You didn’t have to get real people involved…”

“They’re under witness protection, it’s fine.” George adds, snorting.

Adam frowns, looking to Ross for a moment. “So, wait… neither of them said _anything_ about who it was after I left.”

“No.” Ross shakes his head. “Which is weird, but not as weird as the horrors I’ve had to witness.”

“Horrors.” Matty shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, mauve’s a lovely colour, isn’t it?” George bites back a grin.

“It’s fucking maroon.” Matty sighs. “For the last time, you mean maroon—“

“Well, here’s my hypothesis.” Adam raises his voice. Matty makes a face. Adam pretends not to notice. “They definitely slept with people, but other people, no, they slept with each other.”

Matty’s eyes go wide, looking away, and then looking to George, who can’t stop smirking to save his life.

“Oh my god…” Ross trails off. “No… that… Adam—“

“Don’t look at me like I’m responsible.” Adam shakes his head.

“It still counts, doesn’t it?” George says, holding Matty’s gaze.

The room takes a moment to process what he’s just said, before falling into an even deeper silence.

“Jesus Christ.” Ross says again.

Matty blushes. “Yeah. It counts.”

“I can’t believe this all just happened for the sake of this stupid bet—“

“It wasn’t about the bet.” George sighs. “The bet was just an excuse at first, but…” George trails off. “And we don’t have to explain ourselves to you. Alright, I fancy Matty, Matty fancies me, you probably knew that already, but alright we didn’t, anyway we do now and we’re happy, so fuck off.”

“Oh my god, are you together?” Adam frowns, looking to Ross for support.”

“Yeah.” Matty shrugs. “‘Course.” He says, looking over to George.

George smiles back at him. “‘Course.”

“No, stop.” Ross shakes his head. “I don’t care about all this, oh my god you love each other and it’s so romantic bullshit— is George responsible for those… hickeys?”

“Well, who else?” Matty frowns.

“Oh god.” Ross buries his head in his hands. “I need to start drinking again.”

George snorts.

“He’d just come out of witness protection, so he had a lot of… emotions…” Matty falls over with laughter. This time, George catches him.

“Just shut up.” Ross says. “I hate this. I want you both to know that I’m glad you’re happy, but I hate this, and I thought I hated the unbearable levels of sexual tension, but no, this is worse.”

“Should put that on a congratulations card.” George says.

Matty snorts. “Shut up.”

Adam lets out a sigh.

“I’ll talk to that Leah for you, if you want.” Matty says, stopping Ross in his path to leave.

“How?” Ross lets out a sigh. “You hate her.”

“Well, she’s Chelsea’s mate, so I can get Chelsea to talk to her, you know? Before her weird mate gets any other ideas, alright? And we call it even?”

Ross looks to Matty, suspicion bright in his eyes, but Matty nods in encouragement.

“Fine.” Ross lets out a sigh. “Make sure I never have to see another hickey in my life and we call it even.”

“You could just take your glasses off.” George suggests.

“Yeah, but I’d rather not become blind just for the sake of you two idiots.” Ross shakes his head.

Matty pulls out his phone. “We’re calling it even.” He says, “So play nice, ‘cos I love you both, in different ways, but I love you both, and you too Adam, but I love you all, and no one’s allowed to ruin that. ‘Cause fuck it,” Matty looks up, “I’m happy, and I can say that, and I can mean it, so no one’s allowed to ruin that no matter how annoying we all get, we love each other, and that’s the most important thing. We have to remember that.”

Matty thinks that love has never felt less like violence, less like war, less like surrender, and more like peace, something that comes easily — something he doesn’t have to hide, something he doesn’t have to think about. And this, he thinks, is how it should have been all along.

“Shut up, Matty.” George says, and kisses his cheek. Ross rolls his eyes, but this time around, Matty doesn’t even mind.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks 4 reading this MESS i know being on this bullshit in 2018 is pure embarrassment but it is what it is leave some comments if u didnt hate this thnx


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